


blink and it's gone

by serendipitiness



Series: sh ficlets [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e13 Those of Demon Blood, Episode: s02e14 The Fair Folk, Episode: s02e18 Awake Arise Or Be Forever Fallen, Fluff, Happy Birthday Magnus Bane, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:20:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 47
Words: 43,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitiness/pseuds/serendipitiness
Summary: I’m in love, he thinks.“I’m fine,” he says instead.(drabbles from tumblr. mostly magnus and alec, with a little bit of everybody else sprinkled in.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> finally putting all tumblr drabbles in the same spot. will tag as things come along.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another take on maryse's conversation with alec when he becomes head of the institute in 2x13.

He can’t help but brace himself when he sees her outline appear at his door, sharp suit framed harshly by the bright lights of the Institute.

“Mom,” he says.

Closer, her face is softer, sadder, and he remembers how he left her last time. Bent, but not broken, but still twisted out of shape. The vestiges of it are still clear in her expression, in the eyes that he’s inherited, eyes that Magnus likes to call  _soulful_.

“Alec,” she says with a half-smile on her face. “Congratulations on the position.”

“Thank you.” He stands up as she gets closer, and it still shocks him to see how much smaller she is than him. He still remembers when she came home late at night from meetings in Idris, when he’d run to her for a hug and bury his nose in her stomach, breathing in the scent of flowers and coffee.

“How are you?” she asks quietly.

_A Greater Demon switched Magnus and Valentine’s bodies. The Herondales almost started a Downworld revolt. Izzy’s overcoming a yin fen addiction._

_I’m in love._

“I’m fine,” he says instead.

When did this happen? When did he grow up, when did she become a stranger, when did the distance between them become unbreachable?

She opens her mouth, pausing awkwardly with hesitation Alec doesn’t recognize, before the words finally slip out, tremulous and nervous beyond belief.

“And how… how is Magnus?”

Oh. Oh.  _Wow_.

Alec smiles, his grin growing so wide it hurts his face, and steps around his desk until he’s close enough to wrap his arms around his mother. He squeezes tight until he feels her fingers clasp around his back, soft and careful.

“He’s okay, Mom. He’s… yeah. Thank you. Thank you for asking.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alec runs into dot when he goes to apologize to magnus.

He isn’t breathing when the music stops and he hears their laughter, bright and trilling, against the backdrop of silence.

A woman’s laughter. Magnus’s laughter.

And Alec, standing on the wrong side of the door, feeling miles away and not allowed any closer.

The apology sits heavy on his tongue, warring with the fear in his veins as his hand trembles when he reaches for the doorknob. He knows Magnus wouldn’t, he just wouldn’t, but Alec is still terrified of what he’ll see on the other side, scared the sight will rip his heart in two.  _I’m sorry_ , he wants to say.  _I’m sorry I put them first, I’m sorry it seemed like I didn’t love you enough, I’m sorry I’m even thinking what I’m thinking right now_. But he doesn’t open the door, he doesn’t say those words, because Magnus is in there with someone else, and somehow, it’s almost okay because he’s seems happy, happier than he’s been in too long.

Without warning, the door swings open, and Dorothea Rollins appears before him, pretty in a pink dress, eyes wide and wet.

“Alec Lightwood,” she says, mouth open wide.

His nails dig hard into the flesh of his palms as he stares at her, beautiful and immortal and everything he isn’t.

She smiles, lips pressed tightly together, and looks up at Alec. “Don’t think it,” she says. “Nothing happened. Nothing happened because he told me there’s a boy he’s in love with.”

Alec swallows, heart pounding.

“Be better to him,” Dot says, voice strangled. “He deserves… Magnus deserves better.”

And she’s gone before he can say anything.

_I know_ , he should have told her.  _I know he does_.

He walks into the loft quietly, eyes landing on Magnus’s back as he leans against the railing of the balcony, gracing Brooklyn with his presence. Alec drinks in the sight of him, the broadness of his shoulders, the careless elegance in how he stands, the shine of light off his jewelry.

_I would do anything for you_ , Alec realizes with startling clarity as he nears.  _I would do anything for you and I didn’t even know_.

It grows inside him as he draws closer, until he can feel it bubbling out of his skin, overwhelming him in its unexpected intensity. He’s close enough to touch Magnus’s waist, or the sharpness of his knuckles, the soft skin of his cheek.

“Magnus,” he breathes.

And then Magnus turns around, meeting Alec’s eyes with nervous hesitation, and Alec reaches forward, slow but sure, with open arms and his heart burning bright in the palms of his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jace watches as alec and magnus say goodbye after that first downworld council meeting (2x14)

Jace remembers a time when the Institute felt like home, when all he worried about was besting Alec during training and flirting with the blonde in runes studies. But now, as he stumbles back after the mess at the Seelie Court, everything is sideways, everything is harder than he ever thought it would be, and between Valentine and Clary and his fucking feelings…

He’s nearing the steps when the heavy oak doors swing open, warm yellow light spilling out onto the pavement like liquid gold. He sees Magnus saunter out, silhouette sharp in one of those military jackets he favors, and Jace is bracing himself for an unwanted greeting when Alec unexpectedly tumbles out of the door too.

“Magnus,” he hears Alec call, and Magnus turns until all Jace can see is the back of his broad shoulders and Alec’s face, twisted into something that’s half concern and half happiness.

He doesn’t eavesdrop - he’d feel like a piece of shit if he activated his hearing rune now - but he can’t stop himself from watching as they talk, as Alec’s expression eases until it’s open and honest and relaxed in a way Jace rarely has the privilege of seeing nowadays. Magnus reaches up, resting lacquered fingertips against Alec’s jaw, and Jace’s eyes widen at the way Alec turns his face into Magnus’s palm, nuzzling his mouth against Magnus’s hand.

 _This isn’t mine to see_ , he thinks, shame blooming in his chest, but seeing Alec like this, like  _this_ … he can’t turn away.

They step closer into each other’s space until they’re one inky shadow defined against a halo of light, and Jace feels something fuzzy and blissful skitter through him, emanating from his parabatai rune. Their happiness… gods know it was a hard-won battle, but if this is what they get in the end, if this is how they feel after it all…

They finally break apart, letting go of each other with a few more whispered words as Magnus turns around. He manages one step away before Alec suddenly grabs Magnus’s arm, spinning him around until they’re pressed together again and Alec is kissing Magnus like they kissed at the wedding, desperate and needy and uncaring of the rest of the world.

Like how Jace had just kissed Clary.

 _I want that_. The thought rings inside his head as he hears his parabatai laugh when he finally lets Magnus go.  _I want that with her_.

Magnus swirls his arms in an intricate dance, a bright portal spinning in front of him.

“I’ll see you at home soon,” Alec calls out, smile lopsided and wide.

And then Magnus disappears, and Alec heads back inside, and Jace is standing outside the Institute, alone again, everything exactly the same as it was five minutes ago except for Alec’s lingering happiness still tickling his skin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alec says bye to magnus before he leaves for the seelie court

Magnus is leaving.

Magnus is leaving, and Alec is  _here,_  drowning in things that are bigger than him, in catastrophes that come like waves during high tide. It’s ceaseless, and now Valentine is free again, gone from their clutches as if they’d personally unlocked his cuffs and opened the cell door for him to stroll out. Duncan is dead, Izzy feels terrible, Alec is exhausted, and Magnus is leaving for the Seelie Court in the morning.

Alec tries to shove the thought to the corners of his mind, tries to think of capturing Valentine instead. It’s easier like this – running himself ragged and pushing too hard, because there’s always too much for him to do, too many people who look at him with sideways glances and sneers on their faces, too many opportunities for him to fail.

He pushes until the pale blue of day starts emerging at the horizon, when everybody else finally trudges to their quarters with bruises under their eyes and sour breath on their tongues. Alec massages at his temples, sighing as he stumbles toward his room, thinking how nice it will be to collapse onto the plush mattress, wrap himself in red silk and bury his face in the heat of Magnus’s chest…

He stops at the door, brow furrowing when his mind breaks through the fog of weariness. This is the Institute, and Magnus won’t be here.

Reflexively, Alec pulls out his stele and hitches his shirt up, running the adamas over his stamina rune, inhaling sharply at the shock of energy that runs through his limbs. Making for the front door, he runs, eyes unseeing, feet following a path that’s been branded into his skull, taking him to the subway, past back alleys until he sees familiar red brick in front of him.

“Magnus?” he calls out, chest heaving when the door swings open for him. It’s pretty, the way morning light streams in and sets everything aglow, but he’s antsy, blinking too fast as his eyes dart around the open space.

There’s a clatter from the kitchen, and Magnus’s head pops out from behind a wall, a swooping smile appearing on his face when his eyes land on Alec.

“What are you doing here, darling?” he asks, but before he can say another word Alec is on him, arms wrapping around Magnus’s broad shoulders, his face digging into the crook of his neck.

“I wanted to say bye,” Alec mumbles into warm skin, inhaling deeply as he feels himself go slack in Magnus’s arms, his body finally remembering its fatigue as the stamina rune starts to fade. “Before you left.”

Magnus hums softly, the vibration of it resonating against Alec’s cheek, and runs his fingers through Alec’s hair, massaging at his scalp. Alec whimpers at the delicious ache it sends skittering down his spine.

“You should go to sleep, Alexander,” Magnus says quietly. “You’re exhausted.”

“Mmm.”

Magnus shuffles him backward, winding around tables and chairs, and Alec follows blindly, clutching at Magnus’s shirt and wrinkling the crisp material. His eyes are halfway closed, and Magnus feels so good right now…

He feels the edge of the bed against the backs of his knees. Magnus pushes him downward, and Alec sits obediently as he watches Magnus pulls his boots off, then his socks, before he lifts his arms so Magnus can push his cotton shirt over his head.

“Up,” Magnus says, and Alec stands, letting Magnus unbutton his jeans and pull them down and off until he’s standing in his boxers.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Magnus says, voice low and smoky as he urges Alec onto the left side of the bed, leaning over him with a fond smile.

Alec loops his arms around Magnus’s neck, and Magnus laughs as he falls into Alec’s chest, his nose smushed against his collarbone and the rest of him plastered against Alec from head to toe.  _This is nice_ , Alec thinks as he runs his fingers over the edges of Magnus’s pants, dipping under until he finds bare skin.  _I could do this forever_.

“I have to go,” Magnus whispers, lips brushing hotly against his ear. “The Seelie Queen won’t like it if I’m late.”

“No,” Alec says stupidly.

Magnus chuckles as he begins to push himself upward. “Sleep tight, and snore as loud as you want, okay?”

“I don’t snore,” Alec tries to say, the words incoherent and slurred.

Alec feels a kiss pressed onto his forehead, then his nose, and then his mouth, smooth and sweet and comfortable.

“Thank you for stopping by, Alexander. I missed you last night. But I really do have to go now.”

“Fine,” Alec breathes. “Missed you too. G’bye.”

And then Magnus is gone. Turning with a groan, Alec grabs Magnus’s pillow, burying his face into it and breathing in the familiar scent. He lets himself sink into the fatigue, his body going soft and limp and satisfied, and no one’s the wiser when little snuffles begin sounding throughout the bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luke and magnus hang out after a downworld council meeting.

There’s something about Magnus’s loft… something almost inexplicable. Despite the frenetic decor, the hazy lighting and jars of werewolf fangs lining dark shelves, there’s something in this space that makes Luke calmer, makes him forget everything that’s happening outside.

He’s not completely sure why he accepted Magnus’s invitation to come here after tonight’s Downworld council meeting. He should be on his way back to the pack, to placate them and remind them that he has their best interests at heart. Instead…

“Here,” Magnus says, handing Luke a glass of Basil Hayden’s on the rocks, before folding himself into the loveseat across from him, a similar glass cradled in his long fingers. He’s less severe here, the ever-present stiffness in his spine gone. Even though Magnus is still dressed to the nines with his sharp jacket and gleaming rings, it’s as if that extra layer of armor he always wears – that Luke always wears, too – has been removed, and Luke is grateful for it, grateful that he’s allowed to see this.

They talk for long hours into the night. They’ve worked together before, talked before, but not like this. Magnus distracts him from his own head, drawing the conversation away from the Clave and Valentine and Clary. They talk about food at the Jade Wolf, and the fact that Jace has been hanging around the Hunter’s Moon a lot. They talk about bourbon and scotch and if Kentucky does it better than Scotland. And Luke, somehow, despite the turmoil of  _everything_  in his world right now, finds himself laughing, laughing because Magnus is genuinely nice, and Magnus… he might actually be a friend.

Sometime far later, during the odd hours of the morning when the only beings on the streets are demons and drunks stumbling under yellow streetlights, the loft door swings open. Luke’s surprise settles when he sees Alec trudge in, gaze glued to the ground as he pulls his boots off and tears his jacket off before he looks up and notices Magnus and Luke watching him.

Noting the pink staining Alec’s cheeks, Luke stands up. “It’s late. I should get going,” he says as he throws back one last sip of bourbon, feeling his blood flow warm and heavy in his veins. It’s no secret, the relationship between the High Warlock and Alec, but in this space, in Magnus’s loft… he shouldn’t bear witness to it. “Thanks for the drink, Magnus. Really.”

Magnus stands too, a kind smile on his face as he walks over to Luke and rests a hand on his arm. “You’re welcome in my home at any time, Luke.”

He wonders absentmindedly as he makes his way toward the door, how Magnus and Alec make it work. The Head of the Institute, the High Warlock, both men with targets on their backs and worlds between them, somehow sharing this. Sharing a  _home_. He and Jocelyn only made it as far as they did because they lived a lie, and now… now, he feels alone, the last remnants of that life gone, with the only daughter he ever knew turned into a stranger with runes carved into her skin.

“Long night?” Luke hears Magnus ask as he starts to pull the door closed.

“The longest,” Alec sighs, and through the shutting doors he sees Alec fold into Magnus’s arms, his height collapsing into Magnus as his head rests on the warlock’s shoulders, eyes closed, the frown on his face relaxing away.

It’s sweet. Sweet and rare. And in another life, Luke might have thought it was wrong, that the lines between their worlds needed to be clear and bold, but now? Now he knows better. And he can’t begrudge them their happiness if they’ve somehow managed to find it amidst the chaos. Angel knows he’s still trying to find his own.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alec gets a little tipsy over brunch

He’s supposed to be concentrating on brunch. His buttermilk pancakes slathered in maple syrup, the warmth of a summer morning with its gentle breezes and deep blue skies, the sound of mundanes talking of mundane things as their forks clink against plates.

It’s why he brought Alec out here. To step away from everything for a few hours, away from home and away from the Institute, to let good food distract them from impending doom.

Instead, his eyes are drawn to Alec, sitting across from him and looking like his own dark Adonis in a classical painting, the sun bringing to light all the details that the night usually obscures. His hazel eyes glow golden, long lashes leaving shadows on his cheeks, and his hands, so often bloodied and bruised from fighting the world, are clutching desperately onto a now-empty champagne flute. There’s a look of pleased shock on his face, almost comical if not for the way his tongue is poking out, licking at the corners of his lips and making Magnus’s mouth dry.

“Magnus, this… this is good?”Alec says, his voice cracking on the last word.

Magnus wants to laugh. Of course his Alexander, with his big hands and blunt words, would be partial to a dainty glass of champagne. He impulsively stands up from his seat, while Alec’s eyes are still lingering on the last few drops in his glass, and leans over their tiny table, trailing fingers from Alec’s arm and thin cotton shirt up to his jaw before pulling his Shadowhunter forward. He presses the gentlest of kisses to Alec’s forehead, closing his eyes as he breathes in the scent of his soap from Alec’s messy hair.

“You’re adorable,” he says as he sits back down, drinking in the splashes of pink painting Alec’s cheeks that have nothing to do with alcohol.

“I’m not,” Alec blurts out, head turning to see if any of their fellow brunch-goers noticed, slumping in relief when no one is staring. “I’m really…” he tries again, until he sees Magnus’s raised eyebrow. “Okay.”

Magnus spears another piece of pancake and pops it into his mouth, grinning at the way Alec’s gaze flits between his half-eaten omelette and his empty glass.

“Magnus,” Alec whispers under his breath, as if keeping a secret. “Can I order another?”

As if Magnus would say  _no_. Please.

Another glass very quickly turns into bottomless champagne, and finishing his pancakes turns into an impossible task when Alec goes flushed and  _giggly_ , running his foot up and down Magnus’s calf without artifice, like the accidental seducer he’s always been.

“I was going to suggest we take a walk after,” Magnus says roughly, feeling his magic start to sear into the table under his palms, “but that might not be the best idea right now.”

Alec smiles wide, looking more like the young man he is and less like the Head of the New York Institute, and takes Magnus’s hand in his, trailing his fingers over heated silver rings and blue-green veins with sweet reverence.

“Magnus, let’s go home, and…” Alec’s blush somehow spreads more, from his cheekbones down over his deflect rune until it disappears under the frayed neckline of his shirt, before he continues. “Yeah. Home.”

 _Jesus Christ Superstar_.

“Alexander,” Magnus says roughly as he throws down a too-generous bill and rises to his feet. “Promise never to drink champagne without me.”

Alec shrugs slowly as he stands. “Okay.”

Magnus grabs Alec’s hand, tugging him along until they’ve made their way to a hidden alley behind the restaurant. Throughout the two-minute walk, Alec follows close, his breath warm against Magnus’s ear. Fuck fuck  _fuck_.

“Home,” Magnus says out loud as they finally make it to the alley. He awkwardly conjures a portal with one hand, refusing to let go of Alec’s hand, and sighs in relief at the glimpse of the loft through the swirling purple that appears. “Home, now.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alec, after magnus leaves him in 2x18

He doesn’t come back in.

Izzy notices after ten minutes, when Max’s eyes start to droop and his soft child’s hands go still under her palms, exhaustion smoothing the wrinkle in his brow. The space beside her is palpably empty, the space where Alec belongs, and a slow, dangerous swell of concern rises inside her as she makes her way for the door, leaving her parents with Max.

Outside, Magnus is nowhere to be seen. Alec stands alone just beside the door, eyes gazing blankly down the hall, face pale and drawn, and oh  _god_ , she knows. Izzy  _knows_ , and she feels her own heart cracking as she draws closer and sees tear tracks bright on Alec’s cheeks, eyelashes clumped together in wet spikes.

“Alec,” she murmurs, reaching for his hand, clasping his fingers. They’re cold and clammy in her grip.

He doesn’t move.

“Alec,” she says again, softer, gentler, crowding a little closer and hoping her words will penetrate the haze of grief hovering around him. “Alec, please.”

Slowly, his eyes trail up, resting at her chin for a beat, then her nose, before they meet her eyes, and Izzy feels something painful in her chest when she sees the sharp, fierce misery of his first heartbreak written in his eyes, spirit bruised black in the aftermath of a fistless beating. Her brother, her best friend, the kindest man she knows, who refused to love for so long until the right person came along. And now…

She curls her arms around his waist, burying herself against his shirt, feeling the rapid-fire thump of his anguish against her face.  _It’s okay_ , she wants to say.  _He loves you_.  _You belong together._  Except she knows better. There are no words for moments like this, nothing she can say to make this better.

They stand like that, her arms around him, his dangling listlessly at his sides, for a drawn-out breath, the Institute calming around them as night falls. She smooths her palms over his back, clutching at linen, wishing the splinters of her heart that flow jagged through her veins could patch up the shattered pieces of Alec’s.

Her hands suddenly start shaking, and Izzy frowns, confused, until she realizes it’s Alec. He’s shuddering, the entire length of him trembling, and all of a sudden, Alec crumples, his forehead knocking against her shoulder, his nose pressed against her collarbone, and he throws his arms around her, hands crushing her to him as he cries silently, only the quiver of his breath letting her know that her big brother is breaking.

“I love him,” Alec says, voice rough and guttural, the words pushed out from a dark, secret place that Alec never lets anyone see. “Izzy, I love him.”

She’s never heard him say that before. She’s seen it in the way he grins dopily at his phone when Magnus texts him, seen it in his smiles when he arrives from Magnus’s in the morning, but she’s never heard it out loud. She’d hoped to hear him confess it to her, to see the way his face would light up when he admitted the truth. Instead, to hear it now, to hear it when it’s too late… it’s the worst punishment she could ask for.

“I know you do,” she answers faintly, stroking his dark hair, ignoring the way his nails dig hard into her skin. The shaking subsides a little, but Alec lingers, clutching his sister to him like she used to do to him when they were children. Closing her eyes, she sighs heavily, letting her shirt soak up his tears and her body absorb his tremors. “I know you do.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magnus, after he leaves alec in 2x18

Alec’s toothbrush.

It’s the first thing Magnus notices when he walks into his bathroom that night. Between hair pomade and black eyeliner and a bar of white soap, nestled in a ceramic cup next to Magnus’s own.

Alec’s toothbrush.

He picks it up, gripping the plastic so hard his knuckles go bloodless. He stares at it,  _stares_  until his vision swims, until all he can see is Alec standing at the sink, foam dribbling down his chin and happiness in his gaze.

And then he remembers the way Alexander looked tonight, his face so close, eyes wide and flickering, that mouth that Magnus loves to kiss twisted in despair. He remembers the way Alexander’s pleas struck bone-deep like daggers into Magnus’s flesh, tipped with the sweetest poison, and the way those doe eyes that always make Magnus’s gut clench with want were filmed over with tears. Eyes that he loves, eyes that smile at him and laugh with him and make him feel warmer than he’s felt in centuries, swallowed by black, brilliant and bright.

And Magnus remembers walking away.

With a start, Magnus realizes the toothbrush in his hand is melting, angry sparks of red deforming the handle… and somehow that’s enough. That’s enough for the pain in his chest to rise like the tides, for that feeling in his throat to swell until he can barely swallow from the hurt of it all.

Because of Alec’s toothbrush, mangled in his palm.

Hand shaking, Magnus clutches it tight for one more moment before softly, gently putting it back in the little ceramic cup. His gaze lingers before he turns around and heads for the bedroom, where he sits on the right side of the bed and lies down, curling onto his side and letting his fingers play with the edges of Alexander’s pillow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday magnus bane

Dot leans against the French doors, red wine in hand, and watches as Magnus’ face lights up when the cake is brought out of the kitchen.

It’s not one of the multi-tier confections that they used to order for him, the type made to serve a hundred drunk partygoers writhing under pulsing lights. This isn’t even that type of party. The cake she sees is small, almost homey in the way little strawberries are carefully arranged on top and frosting drips over the edges. It’s probably the terrible milk chocolate stuff that Magnus adores.

Except Magnus doesn’t notice, since he isn’t even looking at the cake or the single candle bravely flickering on top. He doesn’t even flinch when a raucous chorus of  _happy birthday_  begins, or when Simon valiantly tries to put a blue birthday hat on his hair. Instead, he’s looking at the man balancing the cake in his palms, maneuvering carefully through their loft until he can set the cake down in front of Magnus. The man who’s concentrating so hard on not dropping the cake that he can’t even see the way Magnus is looking at him.

Dot sighs, feeling a little wistful. That night when they’d danced on the balcony to a jaunty tune on the victrola, when she’d drawn close to him, drunk on whiskey and old memories, Magnus had pushed her away. His eyes had glimmered in the dark as he’d smiled sadly.

 _I’m in love with Alec_ , he’d said then.

 _Yes, you are_ , she thinks now.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dot sees Catarina moving toward her, feels the swish of her purple tunic as they stand next to each other and look at the little crowd hovering around Magnus.

“This is bizarre,” Cat comments. “You could add up all their ages bar us and they wouldn’t even hit half of Magnus’.”

Dot laughs. “I don’t think he minds, though.”

Cat nods and takes a long, bracing swallow of her beer. “No, he doesn’t.”

Dot turns back to look at the spectacle now. Luke’s protege – Maia, maybe? – is helping Isabelle pass out slices of cake. Simon and Clary are bickering over something while the golden boy’s playing with Clary’s hair. And Luke is standing to the side, talking to Raphael while the latter is staring at everybody else like they’re silly, wayward children.

And then there’s Magnus, of course, off in his own world. He’s sitting on the sofa, struggling to contain a laugh while he tries to feed Alec a bite of cake, face aglow when Alec rolls his eyes and closes his mouth around the fork. When Magnus goes to get another bite, Alec absentmindedly draws closer, reaching out to trace his fingers over Magnus’ knee. From here, Dot can see the expression on his face, affection written in bold ink on his features, from his wide smile to the blush on his cheeks to the way his eyes follow Magnus’ every movement.

“Here,” Magnus says loudly, turning back to Alec with another forkful. The birthday hat tumbles over his forehead to the floor.

Alec shakes his head and pushes the cake toward Magnus, head bowing close until they’re just inches apart. “No, you. It’s not  _my_ birthday,” they hear him say softly over the chatter.

Dot warms at the sight. She can’t help but think that –

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen him like this,” Cat says.

“I don’t think I’ve  _ever_ seen him like this,” Dot says with total honesty. “I wish Ragnor was here to see him this happy.”

Cat exhales and crosses her arms around her ribs, holding herself in a little. “He’s seeing this. I’m sure of it.”

A moment later, they hear Maia calling out their names. She’s holding out two generous slices of cake, strawberries toppling over the sides.

Dot shrugs. “I can’t believe he likes milk chocolate,” she says as she pulls Cat forward, setting her wine down on a side table while she reaches out for the plates.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canon divergence, 2x20

It’s over.

The ground is burnt, charred and scorched from magic and flames, and Alec’s shoulders heave as he stares at the mangled remains of the demon on the sand, white bone peeking out, coated in black ichor like ink spilled on paper. His bow is shaking in his grip though, shaking because he can’t see Magnus. Magnus, who he’d called for help despite their fallout, who’d arrived seconds later stepping out of a glowing portal, whose gaze had swept over Alec to check if he was okay before sending bolts of red sizzling toward the sharp claws of a demon roaring behind Alec’s back.

He starts to run, stumbling on a half-twisted ankle and wincing at deep cuts as his eyes seek out Magnus. His breath comes shorter when all he sees are mutilated demon parts strewn about haphazardly, no warlock, no Magnus, no –

Oh.

_Oh._

Alec skids to a halt.

Magnus emerges from behind a mass of bodies, the magic at his palms crackling so hot that the air around him goes blurry. He looks like righteous fury, mouth twisted in a snarl and amber eyes shining as smears of blood streak across his cheek, broad shoulders heaving with every exhale. His jacket is torn along the collar, his pants ripped and stained, but Alec has never seen Magnus look so alive, like a god who could decimate the world with a snap of his fingers, and Alec feels guilty for the way his gut clenches with want.

“Magnus,” he sighs, pressure easing in his throat.

At the sound of his name, Magnus turns, and suddenly the violence in him extinguishes like a candle that’s been blown out until he’s just Magnus again, scanning his eyes over Alec, lingering on bloody clothes and his limping gait. Neither of them move as a warm breeze blows between them, and Alec feels something sour growing in his chest. This is all they’re going to have now, isn’t it? Longing glances and blood running too fast in their veins, memories of soft smiles and heady kisses and a rose-tinted future shoved to the side. God, standing out here on the battlefield, Magnus just a few feet away, Alec feels like he’s suffocating, like he can’t breathe for all they’ve given up, and –

Alec sees something in Magnus’s expression shift, sees his muscles coil under his skin like a cat about to pounce, yet he’s unprepared when Magnus rushes toward him like a flood, when Magnus touches him, his hand wrapping around the back of Alec’s neck and pulling him down an inch until their lips touch. Alec gasps, helpless against Magnus’ strength as he tastes smoke and fire on his tongue, feeling Magnus’s fingers stroke at his hair as their teeth click together, inelegant and sloppy and perfect. His own hands find purchase at Magnus’s hard waist, grabbing at torn leather that stings his palms with still-dripping ichor, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He drags Magnus in, plastering their bodies together until there’s no room for light or air, until all he can feel is the solid, immovable weight of Magnus against him, reveling in the sensation that Magnus is here, alive and well,  _with him_. Has it been days or years since he last did this?

But suddenly, Magnus tears away from Alec, wrenching himself backwards out of Alec’s grasp, and Alec reflexively grabs hard at Magnus’s biceps, stopping him in his tracks. Magnus is breathing heavily, eyes gleaming like molten gold, lips split-slick, and he’s watching Alec with something fierce in his gaze.

“You’re okay, Alexander,” he says, the words harsh and guttural and strained with relief. “You’re okay.”

Alec swallows thickly and clenches too tight to Magnus’s hands, feeling the knuckles creak. He looks down at his hands –  _their_  hands – eyes following the way Magnus’s silver rings gleam dully in the sunlight, the way they burn like brands against his skin, warm from Magnus’s magic. He sees the way Magnus’s fingers curl naturally around his own, the way they always do.

“Are  _we_ okay?” he asks, finally looking up.

He realizes Magnus has been staring at him the entire time, gaze quiet and lingering despite the havoc around them, and his cheeks heat up. It’s a private look. It’s how Magnus looks at him in the morning, when Alec wakes up with his face pillowed on Magnus’s chest. It’s how Magnus looks at him when he brings Magnus coffee, or when he rubs his shoulders after a long day, and something familiar starts to click back into place as he waits for Magnus to answer.

But Magnus doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, quiet, and nods.

It’s barely anything, but Alec doesn’t care. It’s a nod. A nod that says yes to trying, and yes to tomorrow, and yes to things Alec thought he’d lost. A nod that gives him permission to pull Magnus closer, to burrow his face in Magnus’s neck, and to ignore the war around them, just for a moment, in favor of holding onto the only person Alec has ever wanted for himself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a take on the walk home after 2x20

The air is sweet tonight.

Less like sugar, and more like the clean, cutting scent of midnight and quiet and dew hanging heavy like teardrops on grass. It’s the type of night that calms, the type of night that begs to be listened to, and Alec listens, hears the sound of swerving cars and hot dog stands and Magnus, walking by his side, all gentle breaths and rustling fabric and everything Alec has missed so badly.

There’s a lot he wants to say, so many words lying heavy on his tongue. He wants to tell Magnus about how Max is doing, or about the way his parabatai bond feels off. He wants to talk about how much it hurt seeing Magnus at the council meeting, or how hard it’s been to fall asleep on his own at night. He wants to tell Magnus everything, to fill in every splintering crack that’s emerged between them in the past few days.

But for now… for now, he lets himself walk. He lets himself settle into Brooklyn and summer and Magnus’s fingers intertwined with his own. He lets himself relearn the feeling of Magnus pressed into his side, of matching their strides, of being one half of a wholeagain after spending too long wondering if that empty hollow thing in his chest was going to be permanent.

The loft is warm when they arrive, barely lit and hazy. Standing by the door, Alec stops and watches as Magnus saunters into the living room, smooth and slow, taking his jacket off in a graceful twirl before he turns around and smiles at Alec. A smile that says  _welcome home_ , a smile that asks  _why are you so far away?_

In silent response, Alec wanders in slowly, eyes on Magnus the whole time, half a grin on his face. He blindly trails his fingers along carved chairs and glass-paned doors and the old desk, hands remembering the space and the notches in the wood, passing over neat stacks of books and bottles and –

 _Wait_.

He tears his gaze away from Magnus and stares down to where his hand catches on a familiar strip of photographs lying front and center on the desk. He sees their faces staring up at him, smiling wide, and remembers Tokyo. He remembers cramming himself into that tiny photobooth, squished closed to Magnus, heart thrumming as the lights went bright and a woman’s voice started counting down. He remembers just laughing, laughing with Magnus, laughing because he was on a  _date_  with his  _boyfriend,_ and something warms inside of him at the knowledge that Magnus had been looking at the photos and doing exactly what Alec had been doing in the lonely hours of the morning, when he wanted to relive how good things had been.

In the present, he feels Magnus at his side, a solid wall of heat crowding gently against his arm, the beginnings of a question in the air.

Alec answers by reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wrinkled, matching scrap. There’s a sharp crease down the middle and a corner is folded in, but he flattens it out the best he can as he lays it next to its twin.

Magnus and Alec. Alec and Magnus. Beaming and happy and immortalized in ink on a spring night in Shinjuku.

A low chuckle rumbles from Magnus’s throat. “You kept it with you, you sentimental sap,” he murmurs as he stares at the identical pictures for another slow, drawn out beat, studying the evidence of that night with a wistful gaze. He glances up at Alec’s face with an unreadable expression and then tugs at his arm, pulling them together until they slot in place in a simple hug.

Alec trembles. The feeling of Magnus’s face buried into his neck, the tender ache of it almost painful in his bones, the way he can’t help but dig his fingers into Magnus’s dark hair and soft skin…

 _Your sentimental sap_ , Alec thinks as he bends down to find Magnus’s mouth, smiling against parted lips and forgetting the pictures strewn on the desk in favor of living the real thing.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas from these two goofs

Oh god, Alexander.

Magnus’ back slams against the cold stone walls of one of the Institute’s quiet hallways, head cushioned by the possessive grip of Alec’s hand around the base of his skull. His fingers knead into Magnus’ hair, carding through the short strands, playing over the fragile skin of his neck and leaving shivers in their wake. Magnus trembles as he arches into Alec’s kiss.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, voice going guttural when Alec swipes his tongue across the seam of Magnus’ mouth. He tastes like peppermint, sweet and sharp and wintry. “You said –” Alec nibbles at his ear, and Magnus sways, knees buckling for a moment. “You said you had something important we needed to discuss.”

Alec just draws closer, hazel eyes bright and so reverent that Magnus’ breath freezes still in his lungs. Alec’s hands, rough from callouses and years of brawls, are gentle on Magnus’ cheek, trailing down to press into the hollow of his throat where Magnus’ heart beats rabbit fast. “This is important,” he murmurs.

Magnus is loathe to disagree. He tilts his head to kiss Alec again, choosing not to question the sudden show of affection if it means he gets to have Alec all for himself in the middle of the day. Magnus’ traces the hard lines of Alec’s waist with one hand, the rune on his neck with the other, loving the way Alec’s breath hitches with the touch, the way he can’t hide his response. There’s a surging thrill, acute in Magnus’ chest, from knowing that despite being in the Institute, in Alec’s territory, amongst the people that Alec leads, Alec doesn’t seem to mind that he could be found at any moment with his lips pressed tight to the local High Warlock’s.

“I love you, you know?” Magnus murmurs, smiling when Alec sags into Magnus’ grip, forehead pressed to Magnus’. “So much.”

Alec’s thumb sweeps from Magnus’ throat to his jaw before cupping his cheek. He tilts his head and smiles until the crinkles next to his eyes emerge, looking all the beautiful for it. “Me too,” he mumbles into Magnus’ mouth. “Me too, me too –”

“This is absolutely not what I intended when I hung up mistletoe here.”

Magnus startles, turning to see Isabelle stalking toward them like a woman on a mission, while Clary emerges behind her, looking confused as her gaze darts from Izzy to Magnus to Alec. Registering what Isabelle just said, Magnus looks up to notice, for the first time, a cheerful green sprig of mistletoe haphazardly tied to the lamp sconce above his head.

“Then you shouldn’t have told me you put it here,” he hears Alec say, sounding a little petulant as his arm goes tight around Magnus’ waist. Magnus can see that Alec’s cheeks are flushed, though he can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment at being caught or from the exertion of what they’d been doing seconds before, and –

Wait.

“Did you call me here so you could kiss me under the mistletoe?” Magnus asks incredulously.

Alec doesn’t even bother hiding his teasing grin as he looks at Magnus through long, dark lashes. “Maybe.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says, feeling a little dumbstruck. “I never knew you cared so much for Christmas traditions.”

Alec shrugs. “Just this one.” He kisses Magnus on the cheek. “With you.”

Magnus can’t stop it. A smile cracks wide open on his face, like it does so often nowadays, and he grabs Alec’s hand to twine their fingers. “I’m going to cover the ceiling at home in mistletoe,” he says resolutely.

“We’re still here, you know?”

He and Alec glance simultaneously to see Isabelle watching them with her arm looped through Clary’s, sporting a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin.

“Well, we are not,” Magnus says knowingly, tugging on Alec’s hand and starting down the hall. “I’ll leave you two to… whatever original purpose you had for walking down an unused hallway known to contain mistletoe.”

He winks at Isabelle, chuckling at her unsubtle blush.

“Magnus, wait, what?” Alec says, twisting in Magnus’ grip as he tries to catch his sister’s eye.

Magnus just laughs, pulling a little harder on Alec’s arm. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy new year yall

The kiss they share when midnight strikes isn’t all that different from the rest of them.

It’s just an easy press of lips, closed-mouthed and quiet to start, the way they kiss when other people are around, the way they’ve done dozens of times before. Alec knows that if he opens his eyes, he’ll see the other partygoers over Magnus’ shoulder – Jace and Clary, Simon and Maia, maybe Raphael and Izzy, and so he tries to reign himself in, to hold his desire tight to his chest even when he feels Magnus’ hands warm on his jaw, a faint hint of his tongue on Alec’s bottom lip. He’s a little distracted by the crackle-pop of fireworks above the East River, the rising volume of clinking glasses and cheerful conversation, but it could never be enough to draw him away from Magnus, to take his mind off the man in front of him, the solid strength of him right under Alec’s palms.

Alec’s eyes finally crack open when he feels Magnus pull back just a bit a long moment later, though he’s doesn’t go far at all. His forehead is still pressed to Alec’s, breath fogging the space between them.

“Happy New Year, Alexander,” Magnus says with a soft lilt in his voice. A smile manifests, growing from teasing to beautiful when Magnus’ face scrunches up with that wild joy that Alec’s sure is reflected in his own expression.

“Happy New Year,” Alec repeats, hand pressed to Magnus’ chest, thumb playing with the silver buttons of his coat, struck by how different this is compared to where he was a year ago tonight. The details are vague and blurry – he would’ve been on patrol, probably, since the holidays never meant much to Shadowhunters. He and Jace and Izzy might’ve stopped at a late-night diner, or maybe he’d followed them to a club. More likely, he’d just gone home – well, to the Institute – and tucked himself under threadbare blankets.

Alec blinks.

 _I didn’t even know you then_ , he realizes with unexpected startlement. It isn’t a surprise, exactly – he knows, of course he knows – but he’s still stunned by the conscious thought, the active recognition of the fact. Magnus is… he means so much, so  _much_ to Alec. How is it possible that a year ago, they hadn’t even met?

“Alexander? You alright?”

Alec runs his hand over his face, focusing back on Magnus and his concerned gaze. That crescent smile, those deep brown eyes that edge to gold in the night… Alec feels like he’s known them for his entire life.

 _It’s been less than a year_ , Alec thinks in his head. Then he says it out loud.

Magnus raises an eyebrow, a look of amused incredulity on his face that softens when he realizes exactly what it is that Alec means. His hand, still on Alec’s cheek, traces down his neck, feather-light touches playing over his shoulder, his arm, until he’s holding tight onto Alec’s fingers, the metal of his rings warm and familiar.

“It’s not been long,” Magnus acknowledges quietly. “But I hope it will be.”

Alec takes one breath, then two, something bright and full bursting under his ribcage before settling into the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He nods, pulling Magnus’ arm around his waist until the space between them is infinitesimally small. “Yeah,” he says. “It will.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: something inspired by the matt/harry commercials

It’s barely been an hour, and Alec already wishes he could leave the party.

Since the moment Jace left for the hors d’oeuvres table, Alec has fended off three women and a man whose breath smelled like gruyere. And maybe the friendly congratulations and idle small talk are tolerable, but Alec only took this job to help pay off the last of his student loans, which is why it’s inexplicable that somehow he’s here, looking at his own face plastered on posters and breathing in the scent of Armani Code everywhere, the bergamot and lemon so concentrated in the overly warm room that it makes Alec’s eyes water.

He taps his toes against the tile as he stares downward, watching stilettos and leather oxfords pass through his peripheral vision. Another thirty minutes, he thinks, before he leaves for home and changes into his pajamas right away. He’d rather be in his sweatpants, lounging in bed with a good paperback, instead of being here in this suit that makes him feel he’s playing at dress up.

“Hello there.”

Alec looks up at the greeting while he’s halfway through the third sip of his god awful martini and nearly inhales the entire thing into his lungs.

Because the man standing two steps away from him, watching him with a bright crescent smile and kohl-lined eyes that glint with amusement, is someone Alec recognizes with startling speed. He looks different, more glam, more brilliant, more… just more, but Alec’s watched that McDonald’s commercial at least twice a day for the past week ever since Izzy showed it to him, and there’s no chance he wouldn’t remember the man and the way he slid over the hood of that car, or the swivel of his hips, or the way his throat worked as he drank his coffee…

And somehow that man is here, at the release party for Armani Code, and Alec is suddenly exceedingly glad that Jace forced him to come.

“Well then,” the man says again when Alec stops coughing, voice like dark honey that sends the faintest shiver up Alec’s spine. “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room and wanted to introduce myself. I’m Magnus Bane.” He reaches out his hand and winks.

“Hey, um. I’m Alexander Lightwood. Alec. Nice to meet you,” he says, taking Magnus’ still-outstretched hand. He’s warm, a little callous-rough on his palms, but his grip is firm. This close, Alec can smell the quiet, cutting scent of whatever cologne Magnus is wearing, and Alec suddenly feels self-conscious of the sweat starting to condense at the back of his neck.

“Why are you hiding in the back? You’re the star of the show tonight, aren’t you?” Magnus asks, raising an eyebrow and cocking his head to the side. Alec doesn’t really hear the question, distracted because with Magnus so close, Alec can see the liquid brown of his eyes, the wet pink of his lips, and now he’s remembering Magnus’ arms in that commercial, the way his biceps bulged under the stretch of a cotton t-shirt. If Alec peels the burgundy jacket away, then the black button-up underneath, will his bare arms look the same?

“Alexander?” Magnus prompts.

Alec startles. “Oh. Sorry. Um?” He looks in the direction Magnus is gesturing, and grimaces a little at the sight of his own commercial being played on loop against a huge screen at the front. He winces as he watches himself brushing his teeth. “Yeah. Unfortunately, that’s me.”

Magnus chuckles, then raises an eyebrow as he continues to watch the ad. “You like to smell refreshing in the morning, hm?” he asks with a grin.

Alec’s cheeks grow hot as he shrugs with feigned nonchalance. “Like I’m stepping out into the sun,” he says, right on cue.

Magnus laughs, throwing his head back and exposing the lines of his throat, the jut of his Adam’s apple, and that’s it, he’s definitely the most beautiful man Alec’s ever seen, so much lovelier in person like this than he was in that minute-long clip on YouTube.

“If your face is on every wall in here, shouldn’t you be in the middle of all this?” Magnus asks as he points to the crowds, dark nail polish reflecting the light. “With that pretty face, you could do a lot better than the back corner.”

Alec fights the urge to stare at his toes as he watches Magnus’ half-smile. “I’m actually hoping I can hide out until they forget about me so I can head home. This isn’t really my scene.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Magnus says with a rolling chuckle before his eyes clearly follow a burning path from Alec’s face down to his chest, his hips, his legs. “I’d hate to be deprived of the view if you leave. You do look so debonair.”

The blush comes back in full force, and Alec can feel himself smiling, lips pressed tight in an effort to contain his pleasure at hearing those words. It doesn’t work.

“Thanks,” Alec says. “You, ah, you do too.”

Magnus’ smiles again, wide and dazzling, and it gives Alec an unexpected, jittery boost of confidence.

“This is sudden, but would you maybe be interested in leaving the party early and heading somewhere else?” he asks, trying not to hunch his back or look at his feet. “With me?”

Magnus looks delighted, eyes crinkling charmingly at the corners. “I would be very interested,” he says, and Alec feels bubbles in his veins as he points toward the exit, trying not to bounce on the soles of his feet. Wordlessly, the two of them edge toward the front door, ignoring the fact that the man whose face is on nearly every flat surface of the room is on his way out.

“Do you have a destination in mind?” Magnus asks.

 _Shit_. Alec scrambles. He hadn’t thought he’d get this far — he hadn’t thought he’d get anywhere at all with someone like Magnus. He can’t take him home… yet. Is there a bar nearby, or a restaurant? He doesn’t even know what Magnus likes, except coffee, and even then there’s no way Alec could suggest it considering how stupid it would be.

“McDonald’s?” he asks anyway, because he’s hopeless and nervous and prone to blurting out the first thing on his mind.

Magnus freezes in his tracks, one foot already out the door of the hall while he stares at Alec with comically wide eyes that glint under the light.

“You’ve watched my commercial,” he says slowly, a line forming between his brows.

Alec swallows and nods. “I’ve watched your commercial.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Magnus blinks owlishly, dark lashes fluttering as he watches Alec with renewed intent that shines hot like a spotlight. He doesn’t look angry, exactly, but Alec is quite sure he’s ruined this entirely with that confession before he even had a chance to get to know one of the few men he’s ever felt this easily attracted to.

“I’m sorry if that’s weird,” Alec says when the quiet becomes too much, wanting to fill the space with anything, even if it’s a goodbye.

The wrinkles on Magnus’ forehead smooth as he clears his throats, tongue darting out to tantalizingly wet his lips. “It’s not weird, not at all, though I suppose I’m surprised you recognized me. Not a lot of people do,” he says steadily.

Alec starts. “How could they not?” he asks incredulously. “I mean, you look so –” he cuts himself off.

“How do I look, Alexander?” Magnus asks with a teasing lilt in his voice. He reaches out his hand, palm up.

Alec tentatively sweeps his hand over Magnus’, following the creases with care before he laces their fingers together. “I’ll tell you over coffee,” he mumbles.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone's watching their first dance

He watches them with a crooked smile.

They’re dancing.

No, dancing isn’t the right word. It’s more like swaying, more like stepping in tune to each other, a slow, careless thing that’s completely oblivious to the hum of music or the couples around them.

The Shadowhunter is tall. His arms wrap around Magnus’ neck, hands twisted into his hair, stroking at the strands with a lover’s touch. Despite his runes, despite the straight line of his back, it is easy to forget what he is when he looks into Magnus’ eyes with a happiness that’s close to awe.

And Magnus. Magnus, with his forehead pressed to his husband’s, his fingers curled into a golden jacket, radiating joy of the sort mundanes write legends about, the sort Magnus had told himself he’d never have, the sort he’d done everything in his power to fight for.

It’s sweet. Cloyingly sweet. The way they see nothing but each other, the way they’re so in love… it’s like a spoonful of treacle coating his nonexistent tongue. He rolls his eyes when he sees Magnus laugh, face scrunched up in delight… dear god, he has  _pink_ in his hair again…

And then Magnus stops. His laugh stutters to a halt, expression freezing the instant they make eye contact. He looks shocked, like this is the last thing in the world he expected to see on his wedding day.

Ragnor smiles.  _My friend_ , he thinks fondly, watching as Magnus starts to pull away from his Shadowhunter, still staring intently, brown flickering to gold.  _How could I keep away on a day like this?_

He raises his hand, waving his fingers in a little greeting, and shakes his head.  _Go back_ , he says in his head.  _Go back, and enjoy today._

And before Magnus can say anything, before he can draw closer, Ragnor feels the echoes of his consciousness twist into smoke, fading with a gentle sigh. By the next breath, he’s gone, the already invisible disappearing into Magnus’ beaming smile.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magnus has a question for maryse.

“Hello, Magnus.”

He looks up from his phone and stands as Maryse draws nears, her footsteps careful on the pavement as she glances hesitantly at the mundanes around her, their hands waving as they sip at tea and lattes on the Brooklyn street. There’s a bite in the air, that first brisk hint of a breeze that comes with tumble-down leaves and New York City, and Magnus can feel it fresh on his skin.

“Maryse, how are you?” he asks mildly, sitting back down as she pulls her chair out. “Shall we order coffee?”

Magnus flags the waitress down with a raised hand, smiling at the young woman who drops by the table, blonde hair scattered over her forehead, pen tucked behind her ear. Maryse orders an Americano, and Magnus stares at her in mild surprise as he orders the same.

She smiles slowly, a careful, sincere thing that Magnus recognizes in a heartbeat. It’s Isabelle’s smile, and Alexander’s smile, though older, more fatigued, more world-weary. Exhausted, maybe, but beautiful still.

“Coffee is something we have in common, I suppose,” she says.

 _Something besides Alec_ , Magnus thinks.

The waitress returns, steaming mugs in her hands as she sets the coffee down with a pretty grin. Magnus wraps his fingers around the ceramic, the heat seeping into his hands even as the breeze tickles his nose with the chill. He takes a slow breath as he watches Maryse take a tiny sip, head bowed over her cup.

“I called you because I wanted to talk about Alexander,” he says without preamble.

Maryse freezes, cup hovering halfway between the table and her lips. Her jaw tenses, face immediately going stiff as she puts her drink down and sits up straight, fingers digging into the smooth white tablecloth like she’s already prepared for a bloody battle.

“What about Alec?” Her voice is hard, like heat-treated steel and diamond all melded into one.

Magnus watches her as he rubs his thumb idly over the handle of his cup, breathing in the bitter, cutting scent of coffee. Maryse’s hackles are raised, parental instincts activated from the moment he mentions her son’s name. Something inside his chest clenches at the sight of it, and Magnus wonders… they haven’t talked about it, but…

Someday. Maybe.

“I wanted to let you know that I’m going to ask Alexander to marry me.”

For an instant, it’s like Brooklyn stops around them, the bustle of people slowing to a standstill as Maryse’s eyes widen, as her fingers claw into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms as she stares at Magnus.

“Marry,” she says bluntly, though not unkindly. “Marry you.”

“Yes.”

A modicum of tension seeps away from her muscles. “You… have you –”

“No, I haven’t asked yet.” Magnus sets his cup down and plants his elbows firmly on the edge of the table, arms crossing as he leans forward, drawing just a bit closer to her. “And I’m not asking for your permission. I just want you to be aware, because regardless of our history, we’ve reached a common ground, and…  I do respect you, Maryse. I’d rather you know than be blindsided should he say yes.”

Maryse swallows, throat working, and suddenly the remaining pressure in her body evaporates like helium disappeared from a balloon. She hunches over her coffee, staring into its liquid brown depths. Magnus feels concern bubbling up inside of him, and he starts to get out of his chair to reach for her.

She looks up, eyes soft as she smiles, gentle and a little bit sad. “I’m fine. I’m just thinking,” she says simply.

The silence that follows hovers between comfortable and strange, the emptiness punctuated by clinking glass and hesitant slurps of coffee. Magnus glances up at Maryse, almost amused at the way she stares back at him, unyielding, the exchange like a silent conversation in their heads about the man they both love. Her eyes say  _marriage won’t be easy_ , and Magnus answers with  _I know_.

“Do you have the ring with you?” she asks suddenly, face going faintly pink at the curiosity in her question.

Magnus smiles at pats at his coat pocket where a little wooden box is nestled in the velvet lining, something he’s been carrying around with him for weeks now. “I do,” he tells Maryse. “But I’d rather Alec see it first.”

She draws back. “Right.”

Magnus sighs, putting his hand in his pocket and playing with the hard edges of the box, thinking of the simple gold ring that sits inside. “If… if Alexander says yes, I’m sure you’ll be among the first to see it.”

“He’ll say yes,” Maryse says without pause, voice so unexpectedly resolute that Magnus feels a smile grip him. Maryse looks at him contemplatively, lingering on his eyes, her previous melancholy gradually disappearing. “Alec… he doesn’t let anybody else call him that, you know. He won’t let  _me_ call him that anymore.” She sighs, a wry grin twisting on her face. “You’re the only one.”

 _You’re the only one_.

Something swells in Magnus’ throat, thick and heavy so that it’s hard to swallow down the feeling welling behind his eyes. He knows Maryse can see it from the way her gaze softens, the way her lips quirk kindly, the way she looks at him like a mother looks at the man who loves her son.

“I know,” Magnus manages to say to her, the sound of his words barely a whisper above the Sunday crowd. “I know.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alec has something to tell his mom.  
> (a sequel of sorts to the previous chapter)

_Thunk. Thunk._

The sound of his fist against the door is solid, unwavering, hard; the very opposite of how Alec feels as he stands, shuffling from foot to foot. The desire to flee is unbearably strong, overwhelming enough that he actually takes a step back, then another. It’s been years since he’s been been this nervous to talk to –

The door opens.

“Mom. Hi.”

Maryse smiles as she lets him in before walking toward her vanity and tracing her fingers over her jewelry, eyes still lingering on him.

“How are you, Alec?” she asks hesitantly when he doesn’t say anything, her mother’s eye darting quickly from his stiff spine to the way he’s biting his lip. It feels like there’s sand in his mouth as he swallows thickly and stares at his boots.

“You don’t need to stand like that, Alec. It’s just me.”

He startles as he jerks his head up. It’s only now that he realizes he’s standing in parade rest, hands at his back, feet parted and firm on the ground. Grimacing, he forces himself to relax, hunching a little as he wipes the damp of his palms against his jeans.

“You look nice,” Alec offers instead of answering her, trying to hold himself together. She’s wearing a pretty green dress, diamond drops hanging at her ears; it’s a far cry from the severe suits he used to see her wear. “Going on a date with Luke?”

She blushes. His mother  _blushes_. Then she nods and shrugs helplessly before she chuckles, open and loose, the sound cascading like a burbling waterfall, and Alec can’t help but feel the tension between his shoulders ease at the sight of her looking happier and freer than he’s ever seen before. He remembers the expression on her face on the day he’d learned about Dad – the strangled, desperate attempt at hiding how hurt she was – and compares it to her now.

 _This is nice_ , Alec thinks.  _She deserves this._

Before the simmering well of trepidation in his chest can grow again, he opens his mouth. “I wanted to show you something,” he says. “It, uh. It doesn’t have to do with work.”

She tilts her head, waiting.

“Magnus… well, Magnus asked… he…”

 _Oh my god_. Alec exhales.

He holds up his left hand.

He’s ready to fight for this, when he sees her eyes go wide like saucers. Ready to say that this is final, ready to tell her that he’ll never change his mind no matter what she says, ready to say  _do you know how much I love him?_ , when a smile cracks open on her face, growing until it’s a wide crescent, beaming down on Alec until he feels the warmth on his skin like the sun in summer.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, taking his hand in hers and running her fingers over the golden band on his ring finger. “Alec, congratulations, I – I’m so happy for you.”

“Really?” he blurts out dumbly.

Maryse takes one hand and places it against his cheek, the warrior’s callouses on her palm rough on his face. Her smile softens into something gentler, less exuberant though it glows just as bright.

“Magnus… he’s a good man. He makes you happy.”

He feels her arms wrap tight around him in a hug, and he buries his face in hair in response. She smells like coffee and perfume, cut with the mild chemical smell of ink. “Thanks, Mom,” he says quietly. “He does.”

“Thank you for showing me,” she murmurs, letting the embrace linger a little longer. It’s been years since they’ve hugged like this, years since there’s been a reason to let himself sag in her arms, to feel small and protected by the circle of her grip. It lasts another five seconds, ten seconds, before she gives him a little shove. “We’ll talk more later, alright? You’re going to make me late.”

He laughs as he lets go of her, watching her straighten out her dress and furtively wipe at her eyes. “Tell Luke I said hello.”

She nods, then rises on her toes to press a kiss on his cheek. “Go,” she says as she pulls away. “You can call Magnus now and tell him I didn’t have a mental breakdown.”

Alec splutters as she pushes him out of her room, coming to a halt in the center of the hallway as he hears the sound of heels clicking behind the closing door. Letting out his breath, he smiles, then pulls his phone out and sends a quick **_:)_**  to Magnus before heading for the door to wait for a portal home.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: Could you write something about malec right after they adopted max? (Their kid not max lightwood lol) thanks!

He’s holding a baby.

A baby.

A  _baby_.

Catarina stares through the still-swinging door of his loft, frozen at the sight of Magnus swaying in his living room, backlit by the glow coming in through his French doors. It’s a bit of a shock to see him wearing loose jeans and a plain white t-shirt, face bare of makeup, ears and fingers and neck free of flashing silver besides that one ring he never takes off. He hasn’t noticed her, his eyes riveted to the bundle in his arms that squeals every time Magnus twirls, a little blue hand popping up to grab at Magnus’ nose.

“Hi, baby,” he coos, voice unbearably soft like just-washed cotton, all warmth and sunshine as he dances gracefully with the child – his  _son_ – cradled in his grasp. “Hello.”

Then the sofa moves, pillows tumbling to the rug, and Catarina startles when she realizes that it’s Alec, stirring from a nap as he rubs his eyes, hair sticking up in every direction as he pushes himself to a seated position. Like Magnus, he doesn’t see her, gaze drawn instead like a magnet to his husband and the way he moves with their baby in his arms.

“You’re supposed to let him cry it out,” Alec says, voice scratchy as he stands and draws close to Magnus. He doesn’t sound mad, though, as he brushes a finger against a chubby blue cheek and smiles.

“I can’t help it, Alexander,” Magnus breathes. “I hate seeing him cry.”

“I know,” Alec says, moving so that he’s standing behind Magnus, hands resting lightly on his hips as he hooks his chin over Magnus’ shoulder.

Catarina isn’t an emotional woman. Between wars and famines and emergency room crises, she’s seen too many lifetimes of shit to be anything short of cynical. Yet watching them, she feels something aching behind her eyes, knowing she’s intruding on an intimate moment that belongs to them only. To this  _family_.

Maybe it’s because she’s getting sentimental in her old age, or maybe it’s because she has a daughter of her own to take care of, but more likely it’s because it’s Magnus. It’s her best friend. The same man she’s drained too many bottles of whiskey with, the same man she’s seen shed silent tears over long-dead friends, the same man who for hundreds of years has always wanted children of his own… now he’s smiling, smiling until there are crinkles next to his eyes as he leans into Alec’s embrace and watches their son. Their own.

She clears her throat, stepping further into the loft and chuckling when she gets a closer look at their faces.

“Are those dark circles I see?” she asks with a smirk, noticing how they don’t pull apart at all even when they see her. “What has the world come to?”

Magnus laughs unabashedly and shakes his head. “I missed you too.” He shifts a little, and for the first time the blankets part to reveal their baby’s face, muted pink overlaying the blue of his cheeks, his eyes half-lidded as he yawns. “Want to say hello?”

“It’s what I came to do. Can I hold him?”

Magnus nods and slowly hands the baby over, a furrow in his brow as he cups his neck and his bottom, carefully settling him into Catarina’s arms.

“Max,” he says gently, “This is your godmother. She’s among my top ten favorite people in this dimension.”

She scoffs. “Don’t listen to him,” she says, bopping the baby on the nose, melting a little at his toothless grin. “Let me tell you all about the time in 1976 when we went to a Queen concert in Hyde Park and your dad —”

“Cat,” Alec says fondly, “At least wait until he can roll over on his own to tell him about dumb things Magnus has done.”

They break out in laughter as Magnus rolls his eyes. The shaking of her shoulders rouses Max, who lets out an indignant little shriek before he starts blowing spit bubbles.

Their amusement mellows gradually until all three of them are watching Max again, who keeps trying to catch Catarina’s finger with his own tiny hand.

“He’s beautiful,” she says. “He’s lucky to have you two for parents.”

Magnus and Alec share a look, that silent conversation that happens between two people who know each other better than they do anybody else in the world.

“We’re lucky to have him,” Alec says, and Magnus quirks his lips in agreement as he reaches for his son again.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luke and magnus talk

Luke sits on the edge of the sofa, head bowed. His heavy sigh resonates through the loft, overpowering the faint echoes of Brooklyn in the night air as his body deflates with the breath.

“It’s stupid,” he murmurs gruffly, staring into the amber depths of his glass, swilling Magnus’ best bourbon around until it clings to the walls of his tumbler. “Among the stupidest things I’ve ever done, probably.”

Magnus watches Luke from under half-lidded eyes, sitting unnaturally still and quieting his tongue of words that might disrupt the his friend’s somber thoughts.

“I knew her when she was a Trueblood,” Luke continues. “I watched her kids grow up – hell, I work with her kids now.” He tips the glass up to his lips and drains its contents. “But every time I’ve seen her in the past few weeks, I just… what in the world am I doing?”

He looks up, eyes dark with a question that he desperately wants an answer for, and for the first time in a long time, Magnus feels terribly old. Or as old as he truly is, maybe. He sits back in his armchair, resting his drink on his thighs as he crosses his legs.

“Attraction rarely follows a logical path, Luke,” he says simply. “You and I both know that.”

Luke nods pensively, though he doesn’t look up.

“I still remember when she married Robert… wedding of the decade, they called it, every time a Lightwood gets married. I was there with Valentine and Jocelyn.” He chuckles humorlessly and rubs a hand over his face. “We sat in the fourth row.”

Rising to his feet in one smooth motion, Magnus makes his way toward the bar cart Luke once watched him destroy and grabs the handle of bourbon. A single smooth pour fills Luke’s glass once more.

“It’s a strange thing, isn’t it, to see things change with time?” he muses out loud, folding back into his seat and snapping a fresh olive into his martini.

He thinks he remembers that day too – the day of that wedding. Word had sprung up from his friends about another Lightwood marriage, right around the time that rumors of Valentine’s exploits were starting to come to light. Then, the Circle had just been a rumor, with Maryse and Robert and Jocelyn and the man sitting across from him, a man he calls a friend now, sitting pretty in the middle of the buzz.

He looks at Luke now, at the lines on his forehead and his rune-free skin. His gaze turns toward the rest of his loft, to the shining coffee machine in the kitchen and the half-open door to a bedroom that isn’t just his anymore.

Things are different, indeed.

“I’m sorry,” Luke says, interrupting Magnus’ contemplations, shaking his head as if to rid himself of his thoughts. “The High Warlock doesn’t need me here asking for help about my love life, and this… this isn’t something you can help me solve, no matter how matter how wise people like to say you are.”

Magnus quirks his lips, feeling more amused than affronted as mirth fizzles gently in his chest and floats across the distance until Luke is infected with it too, shoulders shaking a little as he grins.

“Dial back on the attitude if you plan on drinking more of that bourbon,” Magnus says, raising his glass and fixing Luke with a pointed stare. He takes a long sip, the two of them basking in the shared quiet of a calm night, though gradually the good humor makes way for the salty bitter taste that slides down his throat, the burn settling deep in his gut and relaxing his tongue.

“You can always come talk to me about this,” Magnus adds honestly after a few long minutes. “I’m duty-bound to mention that I will always make time for a critical ally. But also because we’re friends, and in this case I’m well-positioned to commiserate with you about falling for people we shouldn’t have.”

Luke snorts, sitting further back on the sofa, propping one leg up while he leans against the soft cushions.

“You really think that? Even with you and Alec? Doesn’t look that way when I see you two together, even during council meetings.”

Magnus smiles and pops the olive into his mouth, studying the familiar curiosity on Luke’s face. He thinks of those meetings when he sits next to Alec, discussing politics while the two of them engage in silent conversations through meaningful glances and surreptitious touches under the table. He shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think that at all, I suppose. This… him…” Magnus shrugs. “I like to think it shouldn’t have happened, but that it was always meant to anyway.”

He exhales. He likes to think that fairly often. Every night, actually, when he rolls into bed next to a man whose first instinct is to curl into his chest and kiss his collarbone.

When he looks back at Luke, the man is grinning at him, that knowing smile that actually makes Magnus’ cheeks heat up.

He clears his throat, turning away to stare out the balcony doors and the sporadic lights of cars zipping toward Manhattan, faint blips against the inky midnight darkness. “Just ask her on a date, Luke, and stop giving me that face.”

There’s a rolling sound of rough chuckling that comes from Luke, washing over Magnus and settling on him like a a friendly pat on the back. He watches as Luke leans over himself, resting his elbows on his knees and drawing closer.

“So if I do ask, and she said yes, and Maryse and I… if it goes anywhere,” he starts, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head, “does that mean I’m your –”

“I dare you to finish that thought,” Magnus says, snapping his fingers until they glow with icy blue fire, a baseless threat he makes as he lets Luke’s full-bellied laugh settle in his bones.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> valentine's day

He’s standing at the entrance of Magnus’ apartment.

That is, he’s  _been_ standing here for the past while, blinking owlishly at the  _Closed_ notice that partially covers the sign for  _Tarot Card & Psychic Readings_. Alec adjusts his sleeves again, straightening out the soft pink cuffs of his shirt from under his black blazer, before bringing his hands up to his gelled hair and tucking down any flyaways that may have gone haywire on his subway ride over. His watch says he’s still got five minutes to spare before he’s supposed to pick Magnus up, so he has a bit more time to – well. He isn’t nervous, exactly, because he’s pretty great at romancing people, but it’s – it’s Magnus.

It’s their first Valentine’s Day together, and the event planner in Alec needs it to be perfect.

Not that it  _needs_ to be. Alec knows that Magnus is as happy with a $400 prix fixe menu at a three-star Michelin restaurant as he is at home with Alec curled in his lap as they feed each other whole-grain crackers with jam. Two months ago, when Alec had pretty blatantly brought up Valentine’s Day in hopes of getting clues on what to plan, Magnus had told him outright that he didn’t care what they did, so long as he got to spend time with Alec. Which was romantic, and sweet, and Alec had definitely grabbed Magnus’ by his charcoal gray sweater and kissed him so hard that they’d fallen onto the floor. Still, Alec wants to do something special, something that his immortal boyfriend can look back on fondly, next year and a hundred years from now.

Alec shakes his head. Anyway. He finally raises his hand to knock, the door swings open automatically with a faint dusting of blue sparks.

“Magnus?” he calls out, stepping into the hallway. On the dining table, he sees the huge bouquet of roses and baby’s breath he’d had delivered to Magnus’ while he was at work, sitting prettily in a crystal vase. “Babe?”

Alec hears a rustle from the bedroom, a brief yelp followed by the faint shout of, “Church!” coming from the half-open door.

“We need to head out in the next seven minutes if we’re gonna make it on time,” he calls out, checking his watch once more as he leans his hip against the wall, “so if you’d be so kind as to come out so I can give you a proper hello, then we can…” Alec looks up, and stumbles backwards.

“ _Shit_ …”

Because Magnus just stepped out of his room. Magnus, Alec’s boyfriend, who’d first caught his attention nine months ago at the Mad Hatter’s Party, looking unbearably cute with his soft brown eyes and neatly combed hair and aubergine-colored shirt tucked smartly under a jacket.

“Shit,” Alec says again. “Shit.”

Magnus isn’t moving, chin lifted with a defiant tilt, a little smirk on his face, a rare expression that’s terribly alluring in its infrequency. But Alec’s gaze is forcefully drawn away, drawn down, down to the sliver of chest visible between the undone buttons of a vibrant red shirt shot through with silver thread. His pants are tight on his legs, painted black onto his thighs, and when Magnus takes a step forward and crosses his arms to emphasize the curve of his muscles, Alec’s knees go gooey.

Alec opens his mouth to say – well, he doesn’t know. Because Magnus is dressed nothing like he usually is, and… it’s a  _lot_. And right now, Alec would rather abandon his meticulously planned evening of dinner at Le Coucou and pool at Amsterdam Bar followed by wine and snuggles on the rooftop deck of Alec’s apartment building in favor of ravishing Magnus. Letting Magnus ravish him. Whatever. Both.

“Alexander?” he hears Magnus say. And Alec realizes that somewhere in the time he’d started daydreaming about unbuttoning Magnus’ shirt, the confident glint in Magnus’ eyes had been replaced by flickering hesitation, an uncertainty that Alec remembers clearly from that first month when he’d been hotly pursuing Magnus with single minded determination. Magnus’ hand, newly adorned with two rings, rises to his stomach, fiddling with his shirt seams. “I used to wear clothes like this, before,”  he says softly, and Alec knows he’s not simply talking about the time before Alec. “I thought it’d be nice for the occasion… but it’s been decades, and you’re used to the cardigans, so maybe I’ll just –”

“Magnus,” Alec breathes, taking tripping steps forward. He recognizes the way Magnus is reading his silences, the uncontrollable uptick in anxiety that comes when he thinks Alec isn’t happy with him. Alec reaches out, hands on the verge of grabbing the ironed fabric of Magnus’ shirt, before his fingers twitch away. “Oh, god, of course that’s not it. You look – this is… this is  _inspiring_. So you need to stay ten feet away from me or I’ll rip your clothes off and ruin your aesthetic.” He gives Magnus another once-over, and grabs his hands instead. “ _God_.”

Magnus’ brow furrows. “So this is okay for you?” He inches a little closer.

“Magnus,  _okay_  is the most inadequate word I’ve ever heard to describe –”

“Alright, Alexander,” Magnus chides, but now there’s a smile on his face and in his voice, and Alec can’t help but drag him close by the wrists and bring Magnus’ hands up to his lips. From here, Alec absentmindedly notices an  _M_ and  _B_ etched into the silver surface of Magnus’ rings, and – somehow, the fact that Magnus’ rings have initials on them makes Alec even more charmed as he presses a kiss to Magnus’ knuckles.  _I love him_ , he thinks for the fiftieth time today.  _I’m gonna marry him_.

Admittedly, it’s a little early to be thinking about that. But last week, Alec had taken a lunch break for the first time in two years to browse rings on Crosby Street – just to  _look_ – and he’s been making a mental list of wedding venues and invitation designs and napkin colors since – well, since the moment he fell in love with Magnus, which, looking back, Alec can’t even remember if it was before or after he learned his boyfriend wasn’t strictly human. He knows they’re not ready, and he really should talk to Magnus about it, because he’s stressing a little about whether people who live forever even  _want_ to get married, but.

He loves Magnus. Every time he thinks about his life tomorrow, or a year down the line, or twenty, Magnus is there. Alec knows this. Even if Magnus is a warlock with cat eyes and a fondness for monochrome apparel.

Usually, at least.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Alec finally remembers to say, the words muffled against the soft skin of Magnus’ hand.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Magnus answers, and leans forward to kiss Alec’s forehead.

Alec clears his throat, a true grin forming when he finds himself distracted once more by Magnus and his get-up. “In all seriousness,” he says teasingly as he crowds into Magnus, pressing his fingers to the bare skin of his throat and inhaling deeply when Magnus shivers. “You can’t dress like this too often or I’m going to die.”

Magnus’ hands twist out of Alec’s grasp, palms pushing against Alec’s chest and shoving Alec against the wall – softly. “I can’t let that happen, can I?”

“Worse ways to go than death by hot boyfriend, huh?” Alec says through a wide smile on his face, loving the way Magnus’ cheeks flush a little bit. “You’re always pretty hot, though,” he adds with a wink.

“You’re a menace,” Magnus says without heat before stepping away. He flicks his wrist, and Alec watches with unceasing fascination at the way his coat floats from its spot on the back of the couch into Magnus’ hand.  _I wanna have you forever_ , he thinks helplessly as he winds his arm around Magnus’ elbow, leaning his cheek on Magnus’ shoulder.

“Where are we going tonight?” Magnus asks, tugging Alec toward the door. “Should I portal us?”

“Nah,” Alec says lightly, pressing one quick kiss to Magnus’ cheek before he takes a single step. “You’ll see.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: alec calls magnus pet names. ft. some angst :)

Blood drips down his temple, matted in his hair, dark strands glued tight to his scalp. There’s a throbbing pain in his head, like he can feel his heartbeat where the skin splits open.

 _Ow_ , he thinks. Then,  _is it over?_

If he squints, Magnus can see smoke in the distance, swirling from cars set aflame and a heap of dead demons burning merrily, wayward magic still spreading scarlet into the night sky. There’s a harsh ringing in his ears that means he can’t hear the pop and snap of fire, but he can feel the way the cracked cement under his cheek trembles, a rumble that grows stronger with each passing second. Maybe the earth is waiting to split and swallow him whole, to take him back to the place his blood claims as home.

The reverberation coalesces into combat boots, stained with dirt and ichor still dripping from the laces, pounding against the ground as they draw closer. Magnus pushes himself to his elbows, but he shuts his eyes and falls back to his stomach at the stab that lances through his skull and a new pain in his leg, just as a spray of pebbles knock against his chest. He blinks to see someone kneeling in front of him, to feel hands gripping his shoulders, and — oh.

“Alexander,” he says. “Are you okay?”

Alec’s face hovers just inches from his, his brows threading together, that plush mouth pressed into a frown. Magnus feels himself being turned until he’s facing upward, back against Alec’s hard thighs while his neck is cradled in those gentle archer’s hands.

Alec’s fingers flutter over the laceration.  _Magnus_ , his lips say. Magnus wishes he could hear it, but all his ears register is a vicious ringing as Alec pulls his phone out of his pocket, one arm still wrapped around Magnus while the other dials frantically. The sickly white-blue light from the screen illuminates a thin cut across his jaw, red drying raggedly on his skin.

“You’re hurt,” Magnus says faintly, trying to reach his hand up to heal it. It flops to his stomach instead.

Alec is talking, lips moving rapidly, maybe whispering, maybe shouting, though all Magnus can hear is that pulsing screech. When Alec drops his phone to the ground moments later, his hand curls back into Magnus’ hair just at the edge of his wound, eyes wide and glittering beautifully while his callous-rough thumb brushes Magnus’ cheekbone.

“I’m fine,” Magnus wants to say, but his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth, vocal chords twisting next to the searing pain in his head. All he can do is concentrate on Alec’s eyes and the words on his lips, distress painted in every line on his face.

 _Shit, you’re going… okay_ , Alec maybe says, body curving around Magnus’, shielding him from whatever else is out there.  _Cat… Magnus, baby, keep… open._

Something under his ribcage stutters and warms like a balm in his bloodstream. He struggles to sit up, wondering. “What did you say? I can’t hear you,” Magnus tries to say as the ringing fades for an instant.

“Don’t move…” he hears Alec say clearly, before the tinny sound starts up again. His lips move frantically:  _it’ll be okay, baby, it’ll be okay, where is she… blood…_

In the distance, Magnus sees the crackle of portal magic sputtering to life, bright light interspersed with numerous black dots that twinkle like stars.

“Eyes open, Magnus,” he hears. “Please…Cat is here, please… awake, babe, come on.”

“What did you call me?” he tries to ask, but then the edges of his vision go dark, until all that’s left is a pinprick of hazel, and…

.

.

.

Magnus wakes to a cool cloth on his forehead, the taste of steel on his tongue, and a pointed glare from Catarina.

“No more of these near death experiences,” she murmurs, brushing his hair back as she gives him some water. “No more saving Nephilim ass and massacring demon hordes. My blood pressure can’t take it, and I don’t think he’ll survive another episode like this.” She nods her head to the side, and for the first time Magnus notices Alec, head pillowed on the edge of the mattress, hands burrowed under the blankets where they hold Magnus’ own.

“Oh.” Magnus sighs, eyes tracing the exhaustion on Alexander’s face, the way his bottom lip is worried red like a wine stain. He turns back to Cat and shrugs as best as he can. “I can’t not be there for him,” he says simply.

She nods in understanding.

“Just be careful and rest. You had a grade three concussion and a broken leg,” she says, before kissing his cheek and walking out the room, spelling the door quietly shut.

At the snicket of the latch, Alec exhales, nose twitching a little as his grip simultaneously tights on Magnus’ hands. His eyes open blearily.

“Hello, love,” Magnus says.

“Mm – Magnus,” Alec says, clearing his throat, gaze wide and darting clinically across Magnus’s face, his shoulders, his feet poking out from the blankets, seeking confirmation that Magnus is whole. It’s terribly Alec, and terribly sweet.

“I’m okay,” he says, pulling Alec’s hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. “Thank you for calling Cat, and for staying.” He pats the empty side of the bed, and Alec wordlessly maneuvers under the sheets, head tucked under Magnus’ chin while his arm slides carefully over Magnus’ waist, soft over still-tender ribs and sensitive skin.

“Where else could I possibly be?” Alec mumbles into Magnus’ chest. “Especially after you took out enough demons to keep New York clear for a month and then collapsed and went delirious.”

“Delirious, was I?” Magnus asks, remembering and smiling. Part of him doesn’t want to ask, if it means Alec will get embarrassed, yet his curiosity is begging. 

“Alexander, did you call me baby?”

Alec flinches. “No,” he answers too quickly. “Absolutely not.’

Magnus chuckles and settles his cheek on Alec’s thick hair. “A shame, really. I quite liked it. No one’s ever really called me that before.”

Alec sits up abruptly, twisting around to face Magnus, bewilderment in his eyes and his mouth hanging open.

“What? No one ever?”

Magnus shakes his head, then winces at the throbbing sensation. “Ah, no. Not romantically or with serious intention, at least. I’ll have you know that the term wasn’t popular for that purpose until the twentieth century, and well. There wasn’t really anybody to call me that, except you now. Though you say you didn’t call me that at all, so I suppose –”

“Baby,” Alec interrupts, crowding closer to Magnus, breath warm against his jaw.

Magnus freezes, then sighs happily, sinking further back into the pillows and relishing the warmth of Alec at his side, in his heart. “Say it again.”

“Babe,” he hears Alec whisper, feathering a kiss over his eyelids. “If I promise I’ll call you that again, will you sleep for a little longer? I can go make you a cup of tea if it’ll help?”

“Fine,” Magnus says. “Valerian root, maybe?”

“Okay,” Alec says as he crawls off the bed, smiling back at Magnus as he turns to go.

Magnus turn onto his side, curling his arms around Alec’s pillow and sighing heavily. He thinks he smells the faint herbal scent of tea a little later, bitter and fragrant as it wafts through their bedroom, thinks he hears the sound of footsteps padding to the other side of the bed. He’s sure the mattress dips and a hand runs over his hip, and sure that familiar lips whisper a secret into the knobs of his spine, but all Magnus does is smile as his breath evens out into sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: lie. just lie.

The waiter stops by their table after their plates have been cleared away, a pleasant smile on her face as she refills their wine. The very last drops of it fall from the lip of the bottle and splash dark and red against the glass, and Alec thanks her with a nod, gaze already shifting back toward Magnus. The restaurant is dark, all oak panels and weak Edison bulbs, but what light there is seems drawn to Magnus the same way Alec’s attention always is, catching on the bright gleam of his eyes, the gold thread shot through his jacket, the wine slick and wet on his lips.

Without conscious thought, Alec reaches across the table until his hand touches the bones of Magnus’ knuckles, until he tangles their fingers together in an easy, comfortable motion. He feels slow and lazy tonight; the honey-thick languidness can be equally credited to the good food in his stomach and the heavy weight of Magnus’ gaze, tender and fond and full to brimming.

“Magnus,” he says lowly, thumb slipping under the beaded bracelet on Magnus’ wrist, stroking the fragile skin there.

Magnus leans forward, the corners of his lips curling, and pulls Alec’s hand to his mouth. Alec can feel the waxiness of his chapstick on the back of his hand, the teasing, barely-there tip of his tongue, and Magnus has done this a million times before, yet for the millionth time Alec can’t help but feel the pull in his gut and think that now would be a great time to get the check and go home.

“I hear we’re celebrating today,” the waiter interrupts carefully, and it’s only now that Alec realizes she’s still here, hovering at the edge of the table. She’s gesturing surreptitiously behind her back, and Alec is perturbed to see someone coming up behind her, hands full with what looks like a plate with… cake?

“You told them it was our anniversary?” Alec asks with some incredulity. These public displays have always been something of a nightmare for him; in the same way that Magnus has always courted attention, Alec still shies away from it beyond absolute need, even after so many years under the Shadow World’s spotlight. He watches as Magnus shifts their clasped hands down to the table and shrugs.

“You know I can’t pass up free dessert, Alexander,” he says with an unashamed grin. “Indulge me today, hm?”

Alec feigns a heavy sigh, and bites back a chuckle. As if he’s ever been able to look at Magnus Bane and say anything other than yes.

“Which anniversary are you celebrating, if you don’t mind me asking?” the waiter says as she helps place the cake on the table, carefully arranging two dainty little forks for each of them. She’s not looking at either of them, and Alec wonders if the answer actually matters to her before he registers her actual question.

 _Oh no_ , Alec thinks immediately.  _Oh god_. Hand suddenly squeezing Magnus’ hard, Alec turns to him with what he’s sure is a frantic plea on his face, desperately hoping he won’t have to deal with this whole situation again.  _Don’t do it_ , he thinks in Magnus’ direction, wishing momentarily that he was capable of telepathic communication.  _Lie. Just lie._

But Magnus ignores Alec, his grin steady and unfaltering. He moves closer toward the waiter, looking around the restaurant as if trying to see who’s listening in, before he raises his hand to the side of his mouth. “Eighty years now,” Magnus says conspiratorially, his voice just barely louder than the rumble of conversation around them. “I know it’s hard to believe if you look at him. My husband still looks as young and handsome as the day I married him.”

The waiter’s eyes go wide for a moment, head tilting to the side as a furrow cuts between her brows.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asks, looking taken aback.

“Eight!” Alec blurts out, fingers digging into Magnus’ palm. “He meant eight, not eighty. He’s just kidding.”

“Oh,” the waiter says with an awkward, choked laugh. “Right. That makes… that makes more sense. I thought – you got me there for a moment.” She takes one step back. “Uh, please enjoy, and let me know if I can bring you anything else.”

“We’re fine for now. Thank you so much,” Magnus says brightly, watching as she leaves before he turns to meet Alec’s gaze. “What?”

“Magnus,” Alec says, trying for what he hopes resembles a threatening tone. “You know that stopped being funny after the first time you did it.“

“So why are you smiling, then?”

Alec wrinkles his nose and tries to quash the expression on his face. Instead, he feels a rush of affection surging through him at the good humor in Magnus’ eyes. “God, you’re the worst,” he says under his breath.

Magnus places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, my love. Would you prefer I hide the fact that I’ve been happily married to my best friend for the past eighty years? How do you think our children would feel if they knew you were denying the longevity of their parents’ relationship?”

Alec snorts. “All three of our kids are grown adults who complain louder than I do every single time you make that joke in front of mundanes, so your argument is invalid,” he answers. “It’s times like this that make me wonder why I signed up for an eternity with you.”

Magnus raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair. “Do you really?”

Alec’s amusement settles into something more serious with that question. There’s only ever been one answer to that line of thought:  _never_. In the near-century that Alec has known Magnus – because that’s how he counts the years now, in this new life of his – there hasn’t been a moment when he’s looked back on his decision to bind his life to Magnus’ heartbeat with regret. Having Magnus has meant having love, having children, having every dream he had as a kid fulfilled beyond the confines of his imagination. And if Alec is being honest, the disclosure that they’ve been together for eighty years, even if it’s to a complete stranger, is a welcome thing, if only because it reminds him that even though he looks the same in the mirror as he did at twenty-eight, his life is not the same.

"You know the answer,” he finally says to Magnus, picking up a fork and holding it out to his husband, “but it doesn’t mean you don’t drive me up the wall sometimes. So just – just eat your cake and take me home. Free dessert isn’t a proper celebration.”

Magnus laughs loudly at that, the sound like sunshine on Alec’s skin.

“I can definitely do that,” he says teasingly, “but I’m still going to use that joke again. Every single year. Or every ten years. I’m still deciding.”

“I know.” Alec kicks Magnus’ shin lightly under the cream tablecloth, smiling when he feels Magnus’ feet loop around his ankles in retaliation. “Don’t worry, I know.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> idk??? what this is???

magnus doesn’t like to talk about  _later_. most warlocks and vampires don’t – there isn’t really a point, because immortal life, after a century or two or twelve, blurs into a hazy, foggy thing, and the only way to not go insane with the ceaselessness of it is to focus on now, on this moment, on what’s in front of his eyes.

what’s in front of his eyes right now isn’t a something – it’s a someone. a nephilim, tall and dark and prone to over-seriousness, but possessing the loveliest hazel eyes and the warmest, kindest smile when it chooses to show itself, the way it so often does in magnus’ presence.

and magnus loves this – loves  _him_. loves taking alexander around the world and showing him tokyo, prague, nairobi, lima. loves drinking red wine on the balcony with him, alec’s head on his shoulder, talking about nothing and everything. loves the way alec gasps when magnus touches him just so, when his face flushes with pleasure and his fingers dig into magnus’ ribs with uncontrollable desire.

and magnus finds himself thinking  _i’ve found it, i’ve found him_ , and now his mind races, far and fast and out of his control, and –

he thinks –

later, maybe, after he’s expanded his closet and installed double sinks in the bathroom, he wants to ask alexander to move in, and –

later, he wants to take alexander to that coastal village where he grew up with his mama, where he played in the river and collected pretty stones, and –

later, magnus wants to exchange matching rings and whispered promises made in front of friends and family, then –

later, he wants – he wants a little girl with pink in her cheeks and her thumb in her mouth, nestled between magnus and alec as they watch their baby take her afternoon nap, and –

_god_. he’s never been like this before.

it amazes him, it terrifies him, to think that this man that’s lying next to him, whose hair he’s running his fingers through, who’s still snoring quietly, is able to do this to him. to turn the future magnus has never thought about into a full-colored, heady vision that magnus can’t stop thinking about, can’t stop dreaming about.

but then alexander turns in his sleep, rumpled and marked with pillow creases on his cheek, and kisses magnus’ palm. “no,” he grumbles, voice rough and low, limbs slow and heavy as they wrap around magnus. “wake me up later.”

“okay,” magnus breathes helplessly. he tucks alec’s head under his chin, breathing in the clean, morning-warm scent of him before closing his own eyes. “later.”

 


	24. Chapter 24

The clock ticks a steady tempo, and Alec exhales with the impending arrival of dawn. The sound is too loud on nights like this, nights when it’s just him and the loft isn’t filled with Magnus and his laughter and his heartbeat under Alec’s ear. But he doesn’t doesn’t feel like distracting himself with the television, or playing Minesweeper on his phone.

He’s always been told he has an archer’s patience, but this time, the waiting is driving him crazy.

Just when Alec thinks he needs to activate his stamina rune for a burst of adrenaline, he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and detects the scent of burnt sugar wafting from the door, bitter and acrid and sweet. He sighs in relief, rising to his feet as a portal appears with that telltale snap-crack, wind making Alec’s eyes water even the edges of a smile appear on his face.

It’s been two weeks, and Magnus is finally home. And two weeks of text messages and pictures and video calls are fine and well, but how can Alec do anything but smile when the flesh and blood of Magnus is his reality once again?

His fingers are already twitching when he sees Magnus step out, the need to feel him solid under his hands a palpable desire thudding hard under his ribs. “Magnus, hey…” he starts to say.

But Magnus doesn’t say hello. Instead, he stumbles into the living room, fatigue clear in half-lidded blink of his eyes and the downturn of his mouth, the strong lines of him curved toward the ground, unable to withstand the tug of gravity. He looks exhausted and ready to collapse, and instead of holding him tight in a hug, Alec rushes forward and cups his elbow in his hand, supporting the solid weight of Magnus’ listing body.

“Are you okay?” Alec asks, trying not to let worry color his voice as he leads Magnus toward their room. “You’re not hurt?”

Magnus shakes his head, dark hair flopping limp on his forehead. “Tired,” he says quietly. The toe of his boot catches on the rug, and Alec catches him around the waist as he slowly takes him into the bathroom and pushes him to sit on the counter.

In Alec’s recollection, Magnus has never come home in this state before. He’s usually better about expending his magic, keeping his reserves just full enough, so it’s more instinct than routine that guides Alec as he surveys the containers and reaches for the makeup wipes.

“I can do it,” Magnus says, fingers slipping against Alec’s wrist. Alec notices that the matte black nail polish Magnus favors is chipped; the jagged, unkempt edges are somehow more alarming than the way Magnus complete misses the wipe in Alec’s hand.

“Magnus, stop, just –” Alec lowers Magnus’ hands to his lap and holds them there. “Let me do this for you,” he says quietly.

Magnus’ eyes flutter open and shut. “Oh,” he says nonsensically, before he tips his head heavily onto Alec’s chest. Alec lifts his hands to the back of Magnus’ neck, scratching softly at the shorn hair at Magnus’ nape for a minute before stepping between Magnus’ legs and tipping his chin up with two fingers.

The firm press of cloth against Magnus’ skin pulls away shades of black and brown, revealing the sparse curves of his brows, his delicate lashes, the natural glow of his skin that’s punched purple under his eyes. Something in Alec aches at the sight of Magnus like this – beautiful, to be sure, but vulnerable enough that Alec nearly forgets that Magnus could raze a city to the ground.

“Do you want a bath?” Alec asks when he’s wiped the makeup off of Magnus’ face. “I can wash your hair if you like.”

Magnus shakes his head. He tumbles off the counter, and without prompting, Alec steps forward. He pushes Magnus’ jacket off of his broad shoulders, unbuttoning his shirt, tugging his pants off without the usual heady rush that comes with undressing Magnus, until he’s standing barefoot in their bathroom, toes curled into the tile, naked but for his underwear.

Alec wonders how many people Magnus has let see him like this, just a man in his skin, free of all the trappings that make him the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Not many, he’s sure; one thing that Alec has learned in these unbelievable months with Magnus is that Magnus, for all his words and outward appearances, is, in his own way, maybe the most private person Alec’s ever known. And in moments like this, the privilege of having Magnus’ trust, of having Magnus’ faith, of having Magnus’ heart in the palm of his hands, is a sharp, acute feeling prickling in Alec’s chest.

“C'mon,” he says, directing Magnus toward the bed, huffing out a startled breath when he flops onto the sheets. As Alec bends over him, tugging the covers over his hips, his chest, Magnus’ hand lifts up and rests over Alec’s deflect rune, thumb brushing soft on his skin.

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, golden eyes burning as he stares up at Alec, lips parted and tempting. Alec leans down helplessly, brushing his mouth over Magnus’, chapped and dry and perfect nonetheless, before pulling away.

“You need to sleep,” he says as his hand trails down from Magnus’ cheek to his throat, slow and careful, fingers riding the smooth roll of Magnus Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Alec,” Magnus says. “Alexander.” The name scratches like brittle branches on a window, rougher than Magnus’ usual speech. “Thank you,” he adds, blinking once, twice, lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks, and  _god_ , Alec loves him.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “This is my thing. I – I wanna take care of you. When you need it,” Alec says. “Or when you don’t.”

Magnus pats the space on the bed beside him, fingers falling heavily on smooth silk. “Stay with me?”

Alec doesn’t say anything. He falls into the open spot beside Magnus –  _his_ spot – and drops his head onto Magnus’ shoulder. “Always,” he opens his mouth to say, but Magnus is already asleep.


	25. Chapter 25

Magnus' portal lands him at the entrance of the Institute, right in front of the leftmost door that Alec once told him is less prone to creaking and groaning when being opened. Part of him wishes he could pop right into Alec's office -- it would be so much more expedient, so much less awkward -- but he's done such a thorough job weaving particularly powerful protections into these wards that cutting through them is a pain for Magnus, even if the spells are of his own making.

He flicks a speck of dust off his sleeve and pulls at the lapels of his jacket until it falls open just so before taking a step forward. There are always appearances to maintain, but especially at the Institute; he's been with Alec for half a year now, and they've gotten a little used to him, but he still feels eyes on him when he walks by them, fascination still unavoidable when they see a high warlock casually occupying the hallowed ground of the nephilim.

Once inside, Magnus makes for the Ops Center, knowing Alec will be right in the thick of things at this hour. The hallways are quiet, which he's grateful for: if there's one place he'd rather not court attention, it's here, in Alec's place of work. Until Alec's had a chance to more firmly establish himself as a leader, Magnus would rather avoid giving the New York shadowhunters any reason to make his job harder.

* * *

 

It gets louder when he gets to the Ops Center, the volume matching the rush of preparation for patrol. As Magnus pops his head past the entryway, his gaze is naturally drawn to a dark head of hair and lovely hazel eyes visible above the sea of shadowhunters crowded in the middle of the room. Alec is pointing at something on one of the monitors, hands waving as he talks about -- a potential dimensional rift near Holland Tunnel?

Hm. Magnus rubs his fingers together, feeling sparks sizzle as he leans against the wall and thinks while he watches Alec. There's been an increasing frequency in these rifts, and while Magnus is more than willing to seal them, his magic is only a bandaid solution for a problem that's only going to continue escalating. Absentmindedly, he wonders if he can modify the monitoring spell he has now; the veil between dimensions tends to fluctuate, but if he can increase the spell's sensitivity and chart the locations that are even marginally thinner, maybe he can pinpoint the central source of all of it and --

"Hi, Mr. Bane."

Blinking, Magnus looks up to see that the shadowhunters around Alec have dispersed, spreading to various stations and streaming out the door towards the weapons room. The man who just greeted him looks potentially familiar; blonde hair slicked back, eyes a lovely shade of green, dressed in a horrible ensemble of black leather and taupe shoes. Magnus wonders absentmindedly if they've been introduced before.

"Hello?" he answers, feeling a little startled as she walks past him.

"Hey," he hears from the next person that goes by. Before he can even register who it is, a couple more trudge past, blending into a blur of leather, and a few mismatched, sporadic  _hellos_ and  _Mr. Banes_  emerge while Magnus raises an eyebrow and stares after them with bewilderment.

It's not that they've never greeted him before. It's not that they don't acknowledge his presence, or that they ignore him -- shadowhunters have developed a subtler, snider brand of prejudice in the last century that's started edging into genuine politeness in the past few months. But he's never noticed them just...  _saying hello_  before.

Magnus cocks his head. "Huh."

"Mr. Bane," he hears again, but this time the voice is familiar, curling around the title with a deep affection that's coupled with the firm press of a hand against the small of Magnus' back. "You're early."

"Did you tell them all to say hi to me, Mr. Lightwood?" Magnus asks in lieu of greeting Alec, drawing close enough that the he can brush fingers across Alec's palm, careful to maintain an appropriately professional distance between them. Alec ignores it completely, stepping into Magnus' space and gripping Magnus' waist and dropping a lingering kiss to his cheek before he registers the question and pulls back.

"What -- no? Why would I -- you want me to?"

Magnus shakes his head as they start to walk together toward Alec's office. "No, of course I don't, that'd be weird. They just.” He pauses. “Are."

"Are what?" Alec asks as he unlocks his office and pulls Magnus in after him. Magnus wanders toward the center of the room and watches as Alec locks his door, vaguely admiring the breadth of his shoulders in a tailored gray blazer and the graceful way he strides over toward Magnus. He's smiling, an indulgent expression on his face as he takes Magnus' hands in his own, thumbs rubbing over Magnus' rings, and waits patiently for an answer.

"Saying hello," Magnus responds. "Your shadowhunters were saying hello to me. It's never been a common practice."

Alec draws back and frowns, and reflexively Magnus reaches up to smooth away the crease on his forehead, even as Alec opens his mouth and says, "I didn’t think... I'm sorry they didn't --"

Magnus puts a finger to his mouth. "Alexander, stop. It's an excellent development -- I'm just a little shocked. This is nothing worth being sorry over. Definitely not anything you have to be sorry over. It's how it's always been... until now, I suppose."

Alec shakes his head anyway, eyes somehow brighter and duller as he pulls Magnus' hand from his face. "I was like that, before. Still am, sometimes."

Magnus tugs Alec toward him, letting his head drop heavily onto Magnus' shoulder, stroking Alec's hair and feeling the warmth of Alec's breath against his neck.

"You're trying to do better, for which I'm particularly thankful," Magnus says truthfully. "The small steps are important." He gives the statement time to sink in, knowing his words can't stop Alec from feeling guilty but hoping they lighten the blow.

“Thanks,” Alec eventually murmurs quietly against his collar. “I am -- I am trying.”

“I know you are,” Magnus answers, something heavy and warm settling in his chest. “Now if you’re willing, I’d also like to try to go to dinner, because I’m quite confident you haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast and I have a craving for Vietnamese food.”

Alec finally moves away, the faint outline of a single round button on his cheek. Magnus nearly chuckles, but he settles for a wide grin instead when a smile starts to unfurl on Alec’s face.

“I ate a granola bar.”

Magnus rolls his eyes and tugs Alec toward the door, threading their hands together and pulling him along. “The things I put up with. You’re getting an extra large bowl of pho. Don’t fight me on this.”

Alec laughs, and Magnus relaxes at the rolling sound of it washing over his skin, familiar and perfect and reassuring in its honesty.

“Okay,” Alec says, still laughing. “Okay.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bb alec <3 <3 <3

Maryse is late.

It’s past nine already, the Institute stirring to life as the moon rises high in the sky, and it’s only now that she’s able to turn her duties over to her second-in-command. Knuckles pressed to her lower back, she stalks out of the Ops Center with heavy feet, kitten heels clicking loudly as she heads down a quiet hallway.

It’s been one of those days. Ceaseless meetings, calls from the Inquisitor, warlocks dropping by to upgrade wards, all while Robert is in Alicante doing… something. Which is why this is her first true break in twelve hours, the first breath she can take for herself, though the moment’s really not really her own when the only thing on her mind is  _him_.

Spinning around the corner, she sees an open door with hazy yellow light spilling out of it, warm and inviting next to the bright artificial lights of the Institute’s corridors. Quietly, Maryse steps in, one hand lingering on the wall, feet stuttering to a stop when she nearly barrels into the tiny body standing right by the door.

“Ma,” she hears, round and bright.

It’s Alec, looking up at her, thick dark hair tousled over his forehead, cheeks splotched in uneven patches of red. He has a smear of purple marker on his nose and a gap-toothed smile on his face. “Ma,” he says again.

Maryse kneels ever-so-slowly, and holds her arms out, chuckling wetly when Alec toddles into her grasp, his little shoes flashing multi-colored lights with every step he takes. “Hi Alec,” she whispers, just quiet enough that he can hear.

“Hi,” he says cheerfully.

“Ma’am,” she hears. She looks up to see the Institute’s designated nanny, an older Shadowhunter who’s done this for years, watching them passively. “I wanted to put him to sleep before you returned, but he wasn’t having it. I think he was waiting for you.”

“Were you waiting for me, sweetheart?” Maryse asks Alec with a waver in her voice, trying to get a better look at his face while he insistently headbutts her chest. It’s been half a day since she dropped him off here, and the guilt of leaving him to someone else’s care for so long stings in her chest.

“Ma,” he repeats, and she lifts him up, groaning a little at the strain on her spine.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on him. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Maryse says with genuine appreciation. With a small smile, she starts the walk back to her empty bedroom, Alec’s head slumped on her shoulder as she tries to maneuver him around her belly.

He’s quiet in her arms, his body a heavy dead weight that she struggles with, especially after the exhaustion of a long day. She can feel his head pillowed on her shoulder, his little fingers stroking the sleeves of her jacket repetitively. When she finally gets back to her bedroom, she keeps the lights dim, setting Alec on the smooth cotton sheets of the bed, chuckling when he wraps his limbs around the curve of her stomach.

“That’s your sister in there,” Maryse says, tracing over the delicate little shell of Alec’s ear. “That’s Isabelle.”

“Beh,” Alec gurgles.

“Yes, Isabelle,” Maryse answers. Carefully, she wets her index finger and rubs along Alec’s nose, watching as the purple marker pulls away from his skin. “You’re going to be her big brother. Are you going to help me take care of her?”

Alec frowns. Staring at her belly, his eyebrows furrow with a concentrated, almost comic seriousness, as if he really is considering the question. She can see the bright hazel of his gaze through the thick fringe of his lashes, the plump curve of his mouth, and not for the first time she’s struck with just how perfect he is. In the midst of everything else – Robert’s evasions, the damn Circle, judgmental looks and loud whispers – Alec, with his chubby cheeks and easy giggles, has become the single brightest spot in the gray, and that knowledge makes for an odd, aching sensation in the back of her throat.

Alec nods, then, as if he’s finally made a decision, and clumsily plops his face on her stomach, planting a wet kiss there that stains her shirt dark. A moment later, Maryse inhales sharply at the feeling of a kick in her belly, the sharpness of it exacerbated by the pressure of Alec’s weight leaning against her. 

“I think she’s excited to see you, Alec,” Maryse says. When Alec smiles up at her, she feels like she wants to cry.

She’s so tired, and she just wishes – she just wishes that on days like today, she didn’t have an Institute to run. She wishes she didn’t have to drop Alec off in the morning and pick him up at night. She wishes she could set everything aside so she could always be there for Alec and the daughter that will join him soon.

It’s useless to hope, though. This isn’t a wish that will come true anytime soon… but someday, maybe.

Alec yawns, then, the day finally catching up to him. His pearly baby teeth glisten as his face scrunches up, teardrops glistening from the corner of his eyes.

“I love you, baby,” Maryse murmurs with a long exhale, and kisses his cheek as she starts to pull at the cotton of his shirt. Alec just smiles once before before his face begins to go lax, blinking slowly as he starts to lose focus in favor of sleep.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of fluffy stuff

Alec stares at the ring in his palm, and tries to tamp down the fluttering pulse in his throat.

It looks so small in his hands, the carefully etched silver delicate next to the calloused roughness of his skin. After his afternoon meeting at the Cairo Institute had ended early today, he’d taken a fifteen-minute taxi ride to the Khan el-Khalili, hoping to kill time while he waited for his portal home. Between lamps dangling from stall ceilings and sweet perfume so strong it made his eyes water, Alec had wandered the market, weaving amongst tourists and listening to the raucous sound of bargaining until he found himself doing a double-take at the sight of a small pile of rings hidden behind jewel-toned scarves. He’d thought of Magnus then, of his love for pretty things, and imagined seeing his own little, personal token dancing on strong, graceful hands.

Now that he’s home, though, with Magnus on his way back, Alec is only just realizing the implications of giving Magnus a ring that isn’t  _that_ ring.

Not that Alec doesn’t want to give Magnus that ring. He has it. He’s  _had_ it for three weeks now, having immediately hidden it the moment after he’d bought it in his long-vacant bedroom at the Institute, under the creaky floorboard that only he knows about. But they haven’t exactly talked about it, and Alec hasn’t even begun to plan the rest of it, with next to zero idea of when or where or how he’s going to do this properly – to ask the only man he’s ever going to want to be his for as long as time will permit. And now, he’s worried that giving Magnus  _this_ ring is going to make him assume that Alec isn’t thinking about marrying him.

Which isn’t true.

It isn’t true at all. Alec’s thought about it, embarrassingly often, if he’s honest: every time he hears Magnus singing in the shower, or every time the two of them drink hot chocolate and watch rom coms on the couch, or every time he wakes up in the middle of the night to the feeling of Magnus pulling Alec closer to the solid heat of his chest. And while it’s true that Alec has basically wanted to marry Magnus since the very moment he’d stalked down the aisle and kissed the right person at the wrong wedding, it’s in the accumulation of these short, perfectly unremarkable moments that Alec knows for certain this is what he wants.

He fits the pretty little band over the first knuckle of his thumb, inhaling deeply as he collapses back onto the leather sofa. He’s such an idiot. If he’d purchased literally anything else at the market, he would’ve been fine. But now he’s here, feeling jittery and nervous and  _this isn’t even a marriage proposal._

The sound of shuffling outside the loft has Alec shooting to his feet. His hands automatically going behind his back as the door opens to reveal Magnus, looking like a dream despite the exhausted curve of his spine and the heavy thud of his steps. Alec wants to kiss him hello, or grab his messenger bag for him, but –

He hangs back.

“Alexander,” Magnus says warmly as he tugs his boots off. He throws them to the floor with careless abandon, and Alec can’t stop the endeared smile that crosses his face.

“Hey,” he replies.

Magnus makes his way into the kitchen, peeling his jacket off and tossing it onto the sofa before rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, revealing his forearms in the process. Alec licks his lips, distracted as he follows Magnus and watches as he pours himself a glass of water.

“How was Cairo?” Magnus asks. His lashes flutter over the rim of his cup, grazing his cheeks, Adam’s apple working as he takes a long sip.

Alec blinks to see Magnus watching him expectantly. “Oh. Good.” He pauses, then amends it to, “Amazing, actually. They finalized a signed agreement with all the local downworld leaders to start their own council, and they’re modeling it after the setup we have in New York.”

Magnus smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, and sidles up to Alec. His arms loop around Alec’s waist, their chests pressed together as Magnus tugs Alec closer.

“Look at you,” Magnus says softly, happily. “My shadowhunter. Changing the world.”

Alec swallows. God. This is too much, sometimes. The sight of Magnus’ face like this, glowing with affection that Alec is astounded to be the cause of… it sets something ablaze in him. The bumbling, unfounded hesitation Alec had felt before dissipates a little, like dew with the high sun, and he decides to just go for it.

“I got you something while I was there,” he says resolutely. Biting his lip, he adds, “It’s – it’s not for  _that_. Not yet. Not that I don’t want to. I want to. Ask, I mean.”

Magnus cocks his head, brows furrowed in confusion even as his grip on Alec’s hips tightens comfortingly. “Alec, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Alec groans inwardly, unwinding his hands from behind his back and wedging his arm in the meager space between him and Magnus. Lamplight glints off the burnished silver on Alec’s thumb, and he watches as Magnus’ gaze hones in on the ring, the lines on his forehead smoothing away with realization.

“I saw this in the market in Cairo today and it made me think of you,” Alec explains.

For a moment, Magnus doesn’t seem to react, but then Alec sees the way his cheeks bloom a rosy pink as a smile stretches across his face, eyes shining as he plucks the ring from Alec’s hand. With a snap, he banishes all the rings on his left hand to his jewelry tray, Alec assumes, before sliding Alec’s gift onto his index finger and making a little show of admiring it.

“Thank you, Alexander,” Magnus says, so tenderly that it makes Alec want to blush in his own right. “You really didn’t have to, but, well. I love it.”

He brushes his lips to the corner of Alec’s mouth, lingering long enough for Alec to turn his head a little and turn it into a proper kiss. Alec can’t help but make a low noise in his throat, arching into the feeling of it, his own hands coming up to Magnus’ face, sweeping over his jaw, his ear, the soft skin of his temple.

Magnus pulls away just a bit, mouth slick, fingers dipping under the edges of Alec’s shirt, tickling his stomach. Their foreheads still touch, their noses bumping together. “About the other thing you said,” Magnus murmurs.

Alec nearly chokes on his own breath.

“There’s no rush, but when you feel like talking about it…” Magnus brings his hand up and taps a finger against Alec’s cheek. “I’ve got a spot saved for one particular ring.”

“Oh,” Alec says. It’s an inadequate response, but he doesn’t think he’s capable of anything more articulate, not when his entire face is contorted into a huge, ridiculous grin. “Okay. Good.”

“Just good?” Magnus asks with a quiet huff of amusement. He pouts, and Alec has no idea how this man manages to be this cute and devastating at the same time.

Maybe later, he’ll give Magnus an actual answer, but for now he just nods and kisses the pout off Magnus’ face instead.


	28. Chapter 28

He’s a demon, they say.

A monster with animal eyes and honeyed words and poison claws to rip your heart out while it beats in your chest to feed it to his people. A freak who spins you lies and draws you from your shelter only to abandon you to the wolves a moment later, skipping away with a grin on his lips and your life in his hands.

Some people today, the ignorant and the intolerant, still ask you, is he like that? Will he kill me if I get too close? Is he a murderer, a beast, inhuman and cruel?

No, you say, and nothing more. You know this with total certainty.

But what you don’t say is: he could be.

You see it, sometimes, in the fire that unfurls in his palms and the anger that slashes across his face. He’s been wronged so many times in this life that he’s perfected the art of war. He looks down his nose and spines curl in defeat, or he points a finger and a world explodes, or he levels a glare and reminds you of his blood and the place in hell he can call his.

He’s a man worth fearing. He is so much more than what his skin contains, his body a vessel for power you can’t even begin to imagine.

And yet –

Those eyes are kind when they meet yours, so full of sweetness and affection that your breath comes short to be the recipient of that gaze. Those lips are soft on your cheek, on your mouth, on your heart, his voice echoing wisdom and kindness and love for you, you, you. And those hands – those hands are gentle as they grip your own, gentle as they hold you.

Gentle as they hold your children.

The others – they may never know. They see metal and silk and words that bite. They see what they were told to see, their vision veiled by centuries of ignorance. You were like that too, once, a long time ago, except your brother, and your sister, and he, pulled the curtains back to sunlight.

Sometimes, strangers still look upon you with cautious gazes, wondering where your generation went wrong, wondering if you’re really angel-blooded. They don’t understand. You’re a nephilim, they say. He’s a demon.

I’m Alec, you say, and he’s my husband.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> almond croissants and babe-ing people

_[From: Alec] if you have time can you please get some croisants from amy’s bakery  
_ _[From: Alec] *croissants  
_ _[From: Alec] on 9th  
_ _[From: Alec] the almond ones  
_ _[From: Alec] thanks see you at 10 tmrw  
_ _[From: Alec] sharp_

Following Clary up the stairs, Jace frowns, eyes darting between yesterday’s text messages and the paper box currently in his hands. With more than a little bit of trepidation, he hopes he didn’t smush the croissants under his armpit on the way over here from Manhattan.

It’s not often that Magnus and Alec invite all of them over to the loft. Most get-togethers they have are usually in restaurants and bars around town on those rare nights when the High Warlock of Brooklyn and the Head of the New York Institute are free and in the mood for company. More often than not, they prefer to keep the loft a private place nowadays – which, according to Clary, is completely fair, since once upon a time Jace bulldozed his way into rent-free upscale lodging at the home of his brother’s boyfriend of two minutes.

Yeah. He knows. It wasn’t his best move, and he’s apologized to Alec at least twelve times for it.

The penthouse door swings wide open in a shower of blue sparks when they arrive on the landing. The place hasn’t changed that much since Jace lived here, even though the couch is new and there are more picture frames scattered on the shelves. But despite the familiarity, Jace can’t help but walk in and gawk a little, noticing the way sunlight reflects off the crystal of the chandelier in the living room, or the way Clary’s eyes sparkle at the sight of priceless paintings on the walls.

Even now, he still has the hardest time believing Alec  _lives_ here. Here, and not his dingy room in the Institute with its creaky twin bed and aggressive 1970s-style wood paneling. Not that this Brooklyn loft isn’t right for Alec, since any place or person that can make Alec so happy can only be right, but – just  _look_.

“Hey!” Jace hears. Izzy emerges from the kitchen with a pitcher brimming with orange juice – fresh squeezed from fruit just off the tree, if he knows Magnus at all. “Oh, what’s that?”

“Almond croissants?” Jace answers hesitantly, shrugging at her in greeting. “I’ll go drop it off with them.”

She nods, before smiling wide and enveloping Clary in a bear hug as if they hadn’t seen each other twelve hours ago. Heads bowed together, they start whispering about something. He’s not sure what – maybe Clary’s hairstyle? It does look nice today, all pinned up and flowy and stuff.

As he meanders toward the kitchen, Jace can detect the bitter, rich scent of coffee, the flavor cut by the heady smell of cinnamon. Turning the corner, he’s greeted by the sight of a bowl of strawberries on the table, washed and gleaming red, and a plate piled high with steaming French toast. Magnus is standing there, chin propped in his hands as he leans over the counter, all the while keeping his eyes on Alec, who’s hovering over a frying pan with his brows furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out of his mouth.

“Babe, can you pass me the –” Jace watches as Magnus pushes the butter dish in Alec’s direction. “– thank you,” Alec finishes.

“It looks perfect already, Chef,” Magnus says. He leaves his post and sidles gracefully behind Alec, wrapping his arms around Alec’s waist.

“ _You_ look perfect,” Alec retorts simply, tilting back into Magnus’ hold, head resting on his shoulder, eyes half-closed and lips parted in a smile, all easy and helplessly lovesick.

Jace blinks. Unable to stop himself, he blurts out, “Are you  _flirting_?”

At the sound, Alec looks up. “Oh. Hey.” He doesn’t shift from Magnus’ arms, only nestling deeper if anything else.

“Did you just  _babe_ him?” Jace asks. “Since when did you start babe-ing people?”

Alec’s face flushes. “I don’t – that’s not English. And I only babe one person.”

Magnus lets go of Alec for just one moment to point helpfully at himself.

Jace chokes on a laugh.  _No shit_ , he thinks, before exhaling with a huff and giving Alec a once over. He has powdered sugar on his forehead and a blush crawling down his neck. “I mean – it’s not a bad thing. I like you like this,” Jace finally says, shaking his head in wonderment. “All cute and whatever.”

“I’m not cute,” Alec answers promptly.

“Excuse me, I find you exceptionally cute –”

“Shut up, Magnus.”

There’s a moment of silence before all three of them burst into laughter. Jace snorts at the way Alec’s head is thrown back, his eyes wrinkled at the corners in amusement, while Magnus’ fingers are curled into the strings of the egg-stained apron Alec has tied around his waist as his shoulders shake. Their shared rune means Jace can feel a muted version of Alec’s emotions, and he can’t help but think –  _he never used to feel like this_.

When all of them can finally breathe again, Alec turns back to his French toast, pouting a little when he sees that it’s now shrivelled and black in the pan. Without a word, Magnus helpfully magics it back to a lovely golden brown.

“Before I forget,” Jace says, “Here.” He sets the paper box in his hands on the counter and slides it in Alec’s direction. “I got a dozen. Do you want them here or in the dining room?”

“Wait, is that from Amy’s?” Magnus grabs the box and slides a finger under the tape to release the lid. His eyes go wide when he sees the contents. “Almond croissants! These are my favorite.” He beams at Jace, looking disarmingly sweet for the most powerful man on the continent. “How’d you know?”

Jace’s gaze slides toward his utter sap of a brother, who’s looking resolutely down into the pan, stirring uselessly while a little, secret smile graces his features.

Shaking his head, Jace snorts. “Let’s call it a lucky guess,” he says.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alec's in a closet. no, not that closet.

Alec isn’t really sure what he’s doing in the closet. Browsing, maybe. It’s an hour before Magnus is expected to come home and portal them for their weekend date to some restaurant in Seattle with some lobster thing that he’s obsessed with. And while Magnus doesn’t care what Alec wears, the truth is that  _Alec_ cares now. Why wear leather when Magnus has tailored blazers and crisp shirts that are infinitely better?

Hence, this current moment.

Browsing.

He’s not sure what he’s looking for. Where Magnus might enter his closet with an image in his mind, one with jewel-toned silks and suspenders and perfectly mismatched necklaces, Alec’s method isn’t quite as refined. He usually picks from Magnus’ selection with more of a “I can’t tell cobalt from navy but I like blue” kind of attitude.

His hands trail past the shelves of carefully folded vests, skimming over the neat rows of button-downs hanging in some indistinguishable order. Absentmindedly, Alec wonders if they’re grouped by designer, or by century, maybe. He’ll have to bring it up over dinner. Alec can already envision it – Magnus holding a glass of wine, swirling it and laughing when Alec asks, and candlelight clinging greedily to the width his smile, soft on his cheeks as it accentuates the crinkles by his eyes.

Maybe afterwards, they can buy ice cream on the pier and walk along the beach. It sounds too modest for a guy like Magnus, but then again Magnus has always managed to surprise Alec with the ways he finds joy in the simplest of things.

A good cup of oolong tea. Sleeping in. A kiss hello.

Alec’s fingers abruptly stop. Too distracted by his thoughts, he’s managed to reach the end of the closet without noticing, his nose a handspan away from crashing into the wall. Stepping back, his eyes just catch on the last jacket in the row, the color a deep black that nearly blends into the shadows. The back of his hand brushes against the fabric, and it crackles with uncommonly strong protective spells that spark blue and yellow before settling into a gentle fizzle along Alec’s arm.

Curious, he pulls it out by the hanger, frowning a little when he also sees a shirt tucked inside. Like the jacket, the shirt is pitch black, with silver buttons that shine like chips of moonlight. The ensemble is lovely, though the lapels of the jacket are inexplicably wrinkled, creased. Alec traces his thumb along the seams; it’s as if someone had grabbed on so hard that the fabric permanently crumpled and twisted under the weight of it.

He blinks, and his heart trips for a moment in his chest.

He knows these clothes.

The wedding. It’s what Magnus wore to Alec’s wedding. It’s what Magnus wore on the best worst day of Alec’s life, when Alec thought he was signing away his future to a person whose blonde hair and blue eyes were so far removed from what Alec saw in his dreams that it made his stomach roil with sickness.

And Magnus kept it all. He wrapped these clothes in magic, preserving the heat and the urgency and the  _yes_ of the moment, and saved them. And it shouldn’t be a big deal, Alec knows Magnus is sentimental, that he finds comfort in remembering and reliving the better days of his history when he’s feeling down, but still. Not for the first time, he marvels at the way Magnus cares, the overwhelming, imperfect way Magnus loves that Alec is so lucky to be a recipient of.

He carefully hangs the jacket back in place, smoothing over the sleeves and patting the shoulders. Leaning against the wall, he sighs, feeling content and more than a little lovesick. The life he leads today isn’t the one he thought he’d ever have; Magnus continues to prove, every moment of every day, that he’s the best decision Alec could have ever made for himself, and its to that thought that Alec feels, more than hears, the sound of Magnus returning home, the walls of the loft rumbling a little in greeting as the portal closes.

“Alexander!” he hears, and Alec turns around to see Magnus striding quickly into the bedroom, then backtracking into the closet. “Are you looking for something to wear to dinner?” He draws closer, lithe and graceful in the way that only he can be; Alec’s gaze catches on the softness of his eyeliner, smudged after a long day, and the fall of hair over his forehead.

He’s gorgeous and kind and  _Alec’s_  to love.

“If you’re interested,” Magnus continues, unaware, maybe, of the way Alec is admiring him, “there’s this forest green shirt I think you’d like, I can take in the shoulders – mmf.”

The kiss he lays on Magnus’ lips is sweet, and when they’re a little late for their dinner reservation, Alec is more than happy to take the blame.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bedtime routines

Magnus leans back against the pillows in his bed. An old tome rests heavy in his lap, spine cracked open to a yellowing page filled with spidery black print that alternates between Portuguese and Chthonian. He should be reading, he tells himself. Just this morning a little past dawn, he’d portaled to the Zurich Institute at the behest of a pasty shadowhunter who’d ended up offering him a check with an ungodly number of zeros in exchange for an extra strength encanto-shielding potion. While Magnus had acquiesced with the most charming smile on his face, the truth is that he hasn’t brewed this draught in about 83 years.

Which is to say, he really should be reading.

Considering the near nightly routine he’s had for the past three decades, this shouldn’t be so difficult. Bare face, silk robe, soft jazz, and an hour tucked into a book before falling asleep – he’s done it for so long that it feels physically odd that his mind won’t cooperate.

Instead, Magnus finds himself waiting, eyes darting up to the bathroom door every few moments, watching until he finally hears it open with a quiet creak. He blinks just in time to catch Alec emerging from a billow of steam with a towel wrapped around his waist. His dark hair is curled around his ears, dripping water that paints enticing lines along the slope of his shoulders, the soft definition of his stomach.

“Hello,” Magnus says, grinning. He doesn’t mean for it to sound like a purr, but, well, hasn’t this  _always_ been his reaction to Alec?

Alec smiles in response, ducking his head down a little. The pink on his cheeks deepens considerably, spreading down the length of his neck, splotching onto his chest, and Magnus’ heart seizes against his ribs.  _Oh, Alexander_ , he thinks. There’s a sweet, poignant charm in the way Alec is always so affected by the way Magnus looks at him – that he still flushes at the knowledge that Magnus is attracted to him, still marvels at the fact that Magnus wants him with unbridled desire, despite all the time they’ve had together and all the times they’ve been together.

Magnus watches as Alec wanders toward the dresser. One hand is fisted in the towel at his hip; the other rifles through his underwear drawer, grinning triumphantly when he pulls his favorite pair of boxers out. They’re old and soft and saggy at the butt, and Alec looks unbearably satisfied as he pulls them on.

“I’m going to get some water,” he says after he throws his towel into the hamper. “Want anything?”

Magnus opens his mouth, then closes it. The answer is honestly irrelevant – no matter what Magnus says, Alec will return with a minute later with a tall glass of water in one hand and a mug of caffeine-free herbal tea in the other, the way he does every night. He’ll smile, setting everything down on the nightstand on Magnus’ side, before leaning over to press a kiss to Magnus’ temple, lingering for one soft, sweet moment before clambering over him so that he can plop onto his side of the bed in a messy sprawl of limbs.

This – this is Magnus’ new routine. The one he’s been getting used to for the past six months. The one with Alec.

“We’re running low on chamomile,” Alec says as he re-enters the bedroom and puts everything down on the table next to Magnus’ lamp and books. “If you want to restock it with the leaves from –” Magnus snaps. “– nevermind. Thanks.”

“No need to thank me when you’re the one getting  _me_ tea.”

“Well, I mean.” Alec shrugs, then sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping in his direction enough that Magnus starts to slide toward him. “Thank you for other things, then.”

“Other things?” Magnus raises an eyebrow.

Alec gives him a look. Slowly, he pries Magnus’ neglected book from his hands, grabbing a napkin to mark the page before closing it and placing it neatly on top of the stack of texts always present near Magnus. Magnus feels a sharp tug behind his navel when he sees Alec’s eyes flutter shut as he dips in, kissing Magnus lightly before sinking his teeth into Magnus’ bottom lip. Just as Magnus surges up, catching Alec around the waist, Alec pulls back, cheeks flushed, smiling.

The damn tease.

With the grace of a baby monkey, Alec climbs over Magnus, bedframe creaking when he falls heavily onto the mattress. He drops one more kiss to the cold tip of Magnus’ nose before folding back the covers on his side of the bed and rolling in place.

“Sorry I stopped you from reading,” Alec says as he carefully pulls the covers up under his chin until just his head pokes out. He turns onto his side, still tucked firmly beneath the sheets, and stares up at Magnus with those gentle hazel eyes. “Was it for the potion the Zurich guy wanted? Joss?”

“His name is Jost, but close enough,” Magnus says, flicking his fingers to turn all the lights off, knowing he won’t be making any more progress tonight, realizing his old routine’s kibosh and not really feeling mad about it. “And no worries, if I botch this I’ll tell Jost to take it up with our local Head of the Institute. I’m sure an authority figure like that is used to handling disputes like this.”

“Yeah, he’s –” Alec starts to say, but it’s interrupted by the sound of a loud, groaning yawn. “He’s, uh. He’s very professional. Very smart. If you ask him in the morning.” A second later, he pokes at Magnus’ bicep; when Magnus lifts his arm in response, Alec slides under it, resting his cheek on Magnus’ chest and tangling their legs for good measure, a low groan coming from his throat when Magnus runs his fingers through Alec’s thick hair, fluffing it dry with a puff of blue smoke.

“Thanks,” Alec says, then yawns widely again. “G’night, Magnus,” he adds, and curls in tight to Magnus’ body.

Magnus laughs under his breath, falling into the solid warmth of Alec pinned to his side. Kissing the delicate crown of Alec’s head, he murmurs, “Goodnight, my love,” pleased by the fact that, if nothing else,  _this_  is something he’s already used to.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fyi alec has pretty eyes

For a Saturday night, the Hunter’s Moon isn’t all that crowded. The sound of conversation is like a low hum in the background, and for once, Magnus is grateful – between a full slate of clients and Alec needing to spend most of his nights at the Institute, he’s ready for the week to be over.

He’s next to the bar now, one martini warming his veins already, watching Maia mix their second round of drinks. It’s when he’s standing there, waiting patiently with a twenty dollar bill in his pocket, that he accidentally overhears someone saying –

“Those eyes,” it begins. He turns to see a lovely Seelie man with cropped red hair and vines on his cheeks talking to his friend. “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

Magnus follows the Seelie’s gaze across the Hunter’s Moon, past the bar stools and darts section over to the only occupied table in the area – the table he just vacated. He sees Alec’s profile, the flame of Clary’s hair from the side, and Jace facing in his direction and –  _ah_.

From here, under warm yellow lamplight, the blue of Jace’s eyes shines particularly brilliantly, the color made all the brighter by the brown crescent cutting through the full circle of his irises. It’s a pretty picture, and Magnus won’t lie, he definitely gets the appeal, but it’s been awhile since he’s cared for that particular brand of beauty.

Instead, he lets his gaze fall where it always wants to these days – toward Alec, who already looks halfway to drunk considering the looseness in his shoulders. He’s laughing now; the sound is inaudible from where Magnus is, but it’s like Magnus can hear it anyway in the way Alec’s eyes turn into little half crescents that spread happy wrinkles across his face.

He still remembers, with startling clarity, seeing Alexander for the first time. The wide breadth of his shoulders, the delicious curl of that deflect rune, god, his long fingers curled around that bow.

But best of all… best of all had been the way he’d looked at Magnus. The way his eyes had just lit up, enticing and warm and so obviously interested.  It had been that single glance that had seared itself into Magnus’ brain, that single glance that Magnus had remembered for the next few weeks because it told him –  _there’s something here_. Even though Alec, for all appearances, had turned away from Magnus in favor of someone more proper, his eyes had betrayed him, all the while following Magnus like a magnet drawn to its partner. It’d encouraged Magnus to try, and try, no matter how futile and hopeless it’d seemed, and now…

Magnus smiles.

He’s lucky, he knows. Few ever get the chance to see Alec Lightwood with anything but a scowl on his face. Not everybody gets to see the way those eyes glow soft and golden under morning light, or shift to flint in moments of muted anger, or turn hazy in pleasure on those days and nights Magnus touches him with the kind of desire and love he’s still getting used to. Somehow, Magnus has earned the right to witness all of it, and he’ll be grateful for that for as long as he lives.

Which, in all likelihood, is a pretty long time, so things are looking good.

The Seelie is still staring at Jace when Maia stops in front of Magnus with their drinks. All Magnus can do is shake his head and wink at Maia as he slips her a tip and makes his way back to their table with drinks in hand. He’s still a ways away, weaving his way between patrons, when he sees Alec twisting in his seat toward him, as if in anticipation, his expression of laughter somehow growing even wider.

“Hi,” he exhales when Magnus draws near. He reaches out and hooks his finger in one of Magnus’ belt loops. “Missed you.”

Magnus chuckles. “I was gone for five minutes,” he says as he sets their drinks down, but still he bends down to kiss Alec, tasting in the sweet hoppy flavor from Alec’s mouth, sighing when he pulls back to the sight of Alec’s eyes, sparkling something fierce.

“Sit with me,” Alec says, and to Magnus’ surprise, he pats his thigh.

“On your  _lap_? Alexander, how drunk are you?” Magnus asks. He traces a thumb over Alec’s flushed cheeks. “Do you need a sobering po –  _shit_!”

Magnus should be mad that Alec tugs him so hard that he tumbles into his lap. After all, he’s the High Warlock of Brooklyn, a dignified, respectable representative of his people, a politician worth fearing, a warlock with unfathomable power – except, god, okay, he  _is_ all that, but he’s also a man who is Alec Lightwood’s boyfriend, and he’ll be damned if he ever complains about Alec enveloping him in the warm of his arms and smiling at him with his heart beating warm in his eyes.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alec is up to some shenanigans in the alternate universe  
> (for flufftober day 14: alternate universe)

Heather  _hates_ work parties.

This really shouldn’t surprise anyone. She’s been vocal about that since her first job out of college, back in those pre-Uber days when her coworkers would get wasted off of vodka cranberries at the open bar and ask her to drive them home because she was lowest on the totem pole. And even though it’s been ten years and she doesn’t get bossed around like that anymore, she’d still rather be at home eating a cheese plate and watching new episodes of House Hunters than be at any one of these stupid get-togethers.

Unfortunately, Heather can’t avoid all them all. It’s how she finds herself at yet another restaurant, holding a Negroni in one hand while listening to a conversation about off-brand Spanx they sell in bulk at Costco. The company booked off a corner of the main dining area by the bar, and she’s strategically standing as close to the bartender as she possibly can.

If she has to be here, she’s going to get first dibs on drinks.

When the discussion shifts to the keto diet, Heather pointedly stops paying attention, turning away to do some people watching instead. Complaining aside, this is actually a nice venue, classy but still popular and full to brimming with people on a Thursday night that are a million times more interesting than a diet that bans potatoes.

Her gaze slides along the bar, roaming past a few couples and an older woman with a giant pint of beer in her clutches, before catching on a man who’s just a little better dressed than everybody else, standing with his elbows propped against the counter. He’s tall, wearing a tailored blue button-down that clings perfectly to his chest and tight, slim-fit jeans. When Heather finally looks at his face, she notices the wide mouth, swept-up dark hair, and equally dark brows that frame a lovely pair of hazel eyes – eyes that are focused intently on someone else.

That someone else, when she curiously follows his gaze, turns out to be a man hanging out near the front door, chatting with another group. From across the room, she sees inky black hair combed neatly to one side, a small, lopsided smile on his face… he also looks like he’s got a set of broad shoulders and what have got to be impressive biceps, but all of that is mostly obscured by a soft, sensible gray sweater. He looks – well, honestly, he kind of like a thirty-year-old Asian version of Mr. Rogers. Who also goes to the gym. Maybe that’s why the tall guy by the bar has been watching him for the past five minutes like he’s entranced.

“Cute, isn’t he?”

Heather startles, nearly dropping her drink when she turns to see – oh, shit. It’s the tall guy, standing  _right next to her_.

“I’ve got the biggest crush on him, you know,” he continues on blithely. “Two years, and every time I see him, Magnus has – his name’s Magnus, you know – he’s just gotten more gorgeous.”

God, why is he talking to her? She can feel her cheeks heating up from having been caught staring, and for once in her life, she’s starting to think that that the damn work party is suddenly looking really fun. As gracefully as possible, she tries to shuffle away slowly, smiling awkwardly at the guy. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” She takes one step, two steps, then three away from the source of her embarrassment, glad for the growing distance, eager for a shot… except –

She whips around. “ _Two years_? You’ve had a crush on him for two  _whole years_?”

The man exhales, a dreamy smile on his face.“More like I’m in love with him, actually. How could I not be?”

Heather makes a face at him. The better question is how could he not say anything for two years?

“Why haven’t you asked him out?” she asks bluntly.

The man is silent for a moment, his eyes bright and laughing and gorgeous for a moment, before they darken to a somber, muted shade of slate. Parentheses bracket his mouth as he frowns and looks down at his toes. “Asking people out is scary,” he says with a pout, sad and plaintive. “What if he says no?”

Heather cocks her head and gives the guy an obvious once-over. She watches the way he holds himself, foot crossed over an ankle, hair curled charmingly over his forehead, a bottle of beer dangling lazily from his fingertips. “No offense but,” she says with a shrug, “you don’t look like you’re lacking in confidence.”

“Normally you’d be right,” he quips easily, then pauses in favor of staring longingly over the crowd at the object of his enduring affections. “Look at him, though. The way he smiles, and makes a face when he drinks, and moves his hands… I could never just walk up to him and ask him out like that.”

“I mean, I guess,” Heather says with some amount of sympathy. “It is pretty hard.”

“Unless –” the man blinks at her, lashes fluttering as they brush his cheeks. There’s a scar cutting through his eyebrow that she’s only just noticing, and she likes the way it makes him seem more human and less heaven-sent supermodel. “Unless – do you think could help me?”

She gapes. “Help you?”

“You know. Ask him out. Tell him about me.”

“Jesus.” What an odd turn for her night to take. Heather can’t tell if this is better than worse than being home with her Netflix account. Shaking her head, she asks, “I can’t just. I don’t even… what’s your name?”

“Alec,” he says, before reaching out to take her hand. His palms, she unexpectedly notices, are very moisturized.

“Okay,” she says loudly. She takes an aggressive sip of her drink, grimacing when ice clinks against her teeth. “I’m Heather. Nice to meet you. You owe me a drink after this.”

Without another word, Heather stalks toward the door, the determination on her face parting the crowd like a hot knife through butter. She’s not sure why she’s doing this; it’s been a couple years since she played messenger for any of her friends. But the guy – Alec – had looked so damn honest about his feelings that she’d legitimately felt bad for him.

Any conversation that was happening dies down when she draws close to the group. There are a bunch of people around, but Heather’s got her blinders on tonight.

“Hey, Magnus, right?” she starts as casually as she can, meeting Magnus’ eyes. He’s even broader up close, and Heather would feel nervous if he didn’t look at her so  _kindly_. “Just wanted to let you know that someone I know has had a crush on you for the past two years.” She gestures vaguely in the direction she came from. “He thinks you’re gorgeous. Oh, and that your smile is cute. He’d love to get to know you, if you’re interested, but he’s a little shy about saying something. His name is Alec.”

Magnus blushes, a bashful expression on her face as he runs a hand behind his neck. To her surprise, he laughs. It’s a pretty sound, made even prettier by the way Magnus’ entire body curls into the movement gracefully. “Alec, did you say?” he manages to ask.

“Yes.”

Magnus shakes his head. “Alexander – I can’t believe him – Alec is –”

She doesn’t get the chance to hear the rest of that sentence. From behind her, she feels someone brushing past her,a nd Heather gawks as she watches Alec – the same guy who was just at the bar with her,  _pining_  – brushing past her, hand reaching for Magnus’, their fingers twining as they grin at each other with intimate familiarity.

“Alec is my boyfriend,” Magnus finishes. “ _Already_  my boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Alec says to her, even as he’s busy pulling Magnus close, arm curling around his waist until they’re pressed together from shoulder to toe. “Couldn’t resist. Just wanted him to hear from someone else that he’s gorgeous –” Alec kisses Magnus’ cheek, “and cute.”

Heather’s still reeling at this new development. “I can’t believe you,” Heather says, a little indignantly. She glares at them angrily, but her gaze softens when she sees Alec whispering in Magnus’ ear, his face shining and cheerful and reverent. “You’re horrible. You’re lucky he’s nice and you’re cute together.”

Alec chuckles. “I know. We weren’t always. He kept playing hard to get, but… well. I love a challenge, and he was worth it.”

“Was I?” Magnus says coyly. He’s staring at Alec, intensely, privately, his eyes seeming to flash gold in the heat of the moment. Heather rolls her eyes at the lovesick expression that comes across Alec’s face.

“Always,” Alec responds readily, kissing Magnus on the mouth, then turns back toward Heather. “Now, I think I owe you a drink? Maybe two? You can stay with us – that party you were at before was abysmal.”


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ?

There are long nights, sometimes. Nights that pass slowly, leisurely, emptily, the dark sky breeze wafting through the window and settling on Alec’s skin like a gentle reminder of its presence. On those nights, when Alec is still awake, body next to Magnus but mind fizzing with thoughts and questions too big for brain, he imagines–

Sometimes, he can’t help but imagine –

Black hair, dark as ink and thick as a forest, lightened and speckled to salt and pepper. Bronze skin, smooth and warm and rounded with muscle, turned slack and soft, thin bones pressed to Alec as those arms wrap around him and hold him close, joints sharp and aching with the weight of gravity and stormclouds passing by.

Golden eyes. Eyes sharp and bright and lit with fire, gone rheumy, framed with drooping eyelids and deep wrinkles.

Magnus.

Old.

Old, the way he’s never been. Old, the way he’s never going to be.

Old, the way  _Alec_ is going to be.

He pictures that in his head, the face of the man he loves most in the world, a face immortal and godlike in its beauty, gone ragged with time, the strength in his body and the force in his voice trembling with age. So different, so tired… yet beautiful still.

He thinks, on those nights – _I would love you like that._

But then he blinks, gaze catching on Magnus lying next to him, all grace and power and endless life, the loveliest thing he’s ever seen in the world, and then… then he also thinks –

_I’ll always love you like this too._


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for flufftober day 20: family

It’s nearing five o’ clock when Alec finds himself in the kitchen, apron tied neatly around his waist as he shuffles around, gathering what he needs to finish off the chicken he’s prepping.

Carefully, he stuffs four lemon wedges and one bundle of thyme inside the cavity, then brushes the skin with melted butter before laying it down on a baking tray over some onions, carrot, and fennel. The oven’s already on, the heat of it gradually warming the loft to that perfect indoor temperature for days like this – days when fall is edged with the chill of winter, days when the loft feels full with life and Alec is making dinner.

He’s a little better at cooking these days. He  _needs_ to be.

He’s just shut the oven door and set the timer to an hour and twenty minutes when he hears footsteps behind him, soft clicks for polished leather and sharp-cornered heels. Before he even hears a word, Alec is already relaxing, the perpetual stiffness in his spine softening to welcome Magnus as he slips his arms around Alec’s waist, his lips finding the fragile skin behind Alec’s ear with easy familiarity.

“Don’t tell my husband,” Magnus whispers, voice tantalizingly low, “but there’s a beautiful man in my kitchen.”

He squeezes onto Alec tightly for a long moment before he lets go and steps backwards. Alec spins around to face him, watching with amusement as Magnus hops onto the counter, arms propped against his thighs and long legs swinging easily. Even in a worn gray henley and no makeup, he’s unfairly handsome, eyes warming to gold when he sees Alec’s uncontrolled grin, looking like he walked straight out of Alec’s best fantasies.

“What do I get for keeping your secret?” Alec asks smartly.

In response, Magnus raises an eyebrow, then grabs Alec by the collar, pulling him in – or does Alec step forward? Either way, in the next breath he finds himself in the space between Magnus’ legs, his arms looped around Magnus’ shoulders, kissing that lovely smirk off his face and swallowing the rolling sound of laughter that falls from his mouth.

This kiss – it’s like any other kiss hello that they’ve shared in the past ten years. Unremarkable in its frequency and location and purpose, yet made all the sweeter by the simple fact that this is something that’s become a part of Alec’s life… something he’s allowed to do, whenever he wants to.

Kiss a man.

Kiss a man he loves.

Kiss Magnus.

And maybe kissing Magnus while he’s dressed in a butter-stained apron and the kitchen smells of chicken isn’t particularly romantic, but, well… they’ve made out in weirder places.

Which is why it’s easy for Alec to part his lips, lean in ever closer to Magnus as he licks into the lushness of Magnus’ mouth, hands in Magnus’ hair with all the eagerness they’ve had for each other since the very first day. Despite the intensity of what Alec’s feeling, this isn’t a desperate kiss. It’s kind, gentle, warm the way coming home is, and all Alec wants is to –

“Ow!”

“Rafe, sorry, sorrysorry _sorry_  –”

Alec freezes.

The high-pitched voices cut sharply through everything like a damper to fire, and now Alec’s heart is beating triple-time for a completely different reason than it was before. It’s an equal and opposite reaction, the way he and Magnus shoot away from each other, staring at each other anxiously for a breath before they stride toward the door together, moving in sync like they’re on a battlefront.

This type of fear is unique. It’s not anything he used to experience, because even if he’s spent an entire lifetime taking care of people, what he’s feeling now is elevated in a way he can’t describe. This type of fear is wild and painful, and it ratchets his anxiety up to a twelve every minute of the day.

These are his kids. His  _children_. And when they get hurt, even when they  _maybe_  get hurt, his brain goes into the worst kind of overdrive.

Last month, Rafael had gotten into Alec’s stash of arrows hidden in the back of the coat closet when Catarina had been babysitting and somehow pinned himself to a bookshelf. And just last week, they’d caught Max floating nine feet above the hardwood floor, zooming around his room with his Spiderman doll and making little sound effects as he jumped from ceiling to wall.

And sure, Magnus has warded the loft to within an inch of its life, and all the boys were doing when Alec left to start dinner was puzzle building, but that doesn’t mean anything when it’s a five-year-old shadowhunter and a three-year-old warlock that they’re talking about.

“Shit, shit,  _shit_ ,” he thinks.

When he and Magnus get to the living room and round the sofa, they’re greeted by the sight of a hundred puzzle pieces scattered around the coffee table. In the middle of it all is Rafael, head bowed, huddled on the floor, and Max, staring at his brother with tears gathering along his midnight blue lashes.

Magnus drops to the ground by Rafael, the length of him curling around Rafael’s thin, bony shoulders to check for injuries, while Alec gathers Max up in his arms and pats his cheeks, his stomach, his legs.

“Hey, Max, hey – shh. Shh. Are you okay?”

Max nods, wiping his nose with his sleeve, but then points at Rafael with a trembling finger. “Rafe,” he says.

Certain that Max is alright, at least physically, Alec turns toward Rafael, looking intently at Magnus and the way he’s whispering to his son in soft Spanish. His expression, though concentrated, is clear and easy and free of worry, and Alec sighs in partial relief.

“Rafael?” Alec prompts gently.

Magnus rubs his hand comfortingly along Rafael’s back. “Want to tell Daddy what happened?”

Rafael frowns. “My toe,” he says.

“Toe,” Max repeats mournfully, bottom lip trembling again. Alec makes a face, confused, and looks to Magnus for help.

“Max stepped on Rafael’s toe while he was trying to help build the puzzle,” Magnus says simply. He looks like a little amused, but there’s also something indescribably kind and sincere in the way he holds Rafael close.

Alec gives Max a squeeze. “Max, do you want –”

“Sorry Rafe!” Max blurts out, then, more quietly, “Sorry.”

The living room is silent, save the sound of Max’s little, shaky breaths. In the months that Rafael’s been with them, Max has latched onto his brother with the kind of adoration that makes Alec’s heart sing, but Alec still worries, knowing that Rafael is still learning how to be comfortable in this home that’s his now too. All Alec can hope for is that with enough care and nurturing, Rafael will feel less like a stranger, will understand that Magnus and Alec love him, that Max loves him, that they’ll protect him with everything they have, because this is what  _family_ does…

“It’s okay, Max.”

Alec watches as Rafael unexpectedly wobbles out of Magnus’ grip, taking a few short steps Max. He hesitates nervously for a moment, staring down at Max, before wrapping him in a short, little hug.

Max immediately beams, and throws his arms around Rafael before smushing his cheek against Rafael’s shoulder, and Alec smiles.

“Should we all try to finish the puzzle together?” Magnus asks. “Maybe before dinner? Daddy made chicken tonight.”

“Chicken!” Max yells, then promptly lets go of his brother, all previous unhappiness forgotten as he dives to the ground and grabs a dozen puzzle pieces. More sedately, Rafael drops to the floor, eyes already focused on building a corner section.

Over the tops of their heads, Alec catches sight of Magnus. He’s kneeling on the ground, pushing puzzle pieces toward the boys, murmuring suggestions, eyes shining as he watches them. The softest of smiles is gracing his face. Alec had known, from the start, just how great of a father Magnus would be, and just how much he  _wanted_ to be a father, but the evidence of how well Magnus has taken to parenting still shocks Alec in the best of ways.

Not wasting another second, Alec folds himself onto the floor, next to his husband and two sons. He fits a couple puzzle pieces together, offering them to Rafael while the four of them wait for the chicken he made for dinner to finish cooking.

It doesn’t seem real, sometimes, that this is his life. No part of him could have imagined this, and yet – this is just how it is, these days.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt: jealousy

It’s late by the time Alec makes it home.

Next to the many nights he’s returned closer to dawn than dusk, this isn’t so bad, but still, it had been far too late for him to text Magnus to ask him for a portal. Magnus wouldn’t have cared – hell, knowing him, he’ll be pissed in the morning knowing that Alec  _didn’t_ ask him – but now more than ever, Alec can’t bear the thought of doing anything that would disrupt Magnus’ well-deserved rest.

Either way, it’s how Alec finds himself trudging through the front door while the clock on the wall tells him it’s the wrong side of midnight. Shadows scatter long and dark throughout the space, casting the living room’s old paintings and vases and figurines in black. When Alec had first moved in, the sight had creeped him out a bit, making him feel like a bull in a china shop on the verge of breaking every precious thing Magnus has spent centuries collecting, but these days, it’s comforting to see – comforting in the way that only home can be. The loft is quiet as he toes his boots off and hangs up his jacket, and the lack of sound is maybe the best thing Alec’s experienced all day.

And then it’s interrupted by a thin, piercing cry.

The sound is muffled by the walls, but Alec hears it as acutely as if someone’s trying to wrench his ribs apart. Sighing, he stumbles over his boots in his haste, doing an awkward hop-skip before he rights his balance and makes for the half-open bedroom door off the hallway. Inside, the little moon-shaped night light casts a warm yellow glow against the ceiling that make it just a bit easier for Alec to locate the crib where the wailing is coming from.

“Hey,” he says under his breath, then, “Hey, buddy, hey,  _hey_ ,” when he finally reaches over the rails of the crib to pick up his baby boy.

Max’s eyes are squeezed shut, his mouth stretched wide in a gummy shriek that’s punctuated by tiny fists that knock ineffectually against Alec’s chest. Even in the dimness, he can see Max’s face go splotchy red under the deep blue of his skin. Alec’s lungs constrict as he cradles him in his arms, bouncing to soothe whatever distress is causing him to cry like this. Alec checks his diaper, and when he glances at Max’s feeding chart on the changing table nearby, he can see that Magnus just fed him a bottle thirty minutes ago.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “It’s okay, I got you, Daddy’s got you, don’t cry.”

Max doesn’t stop though. In the two months since Alec brought him to New York from Idris, he’s slowly gotten less finicky, taking to his bottle faster and waking up fewer times throughout the night, though he still has bouts of fussiness like this on occasion. Right now, even when Alec tries to give him his pacifier, or feed him a little more, he continues to wail, the sound turning painful and cracked as he slowly cries himself hoarse.

“Max,” Alec tries again, rocking him, pressing his son against his heartbeat, hoping it’ll calm him down.

It doesn’t.

God, he – he wishes this were easier. And it’s selfish and ignorant to think that, that he should have it any easier than any parent that’s ever raised a child, but when Max cries like this… Alec feels like shit. Like letting the heat that’s been building behind his eyes turn into tears. Because at the moment, all he can think is that he’s useless in the worst of ways: his son is so small, so fragile, so in need of someone to protect him, yet even when Alec’s right here, holding him as close as he possibly can, loving him with everything he has, Max is still miserable.

“Alexander?”

Alec jerks up to the sight of Magnus, bathed in shadows, stepping quietly into the bedroom. His hair falls loosely over his forehead, the gold of his eyes muted with exhaustion.

“Magnus,” Alec says, feeling relieved, then guilty right after. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got him.”

Magnus ignores him and crosses the room, arms outstretched, looking at Alec pointedly. Exhaling in resignation, Alec hands Max to Magnus, watching the way Magnus’ hands curl under Max’s bottom and around the delicate curve of his skull, forearms stretching along the length of Max’s spine, holding him with the kind of strength and gentleness that Alec’s come to expect from the man he’s made his partner in life.

“My poor baby,” Magnus coos, his voice warm with tenderness. “My little baby.”

He glides back and forth across the room, murmuring nonsense into the soft whorl of Max’s ear. Alec watches as Max turns into Magnus’ chest, snuffling into the fabric of his shirt, little fingers clutching at the fabric. The two of them take to each other like long lost friends, Max calming down in Magnus’ hold as easy as anything – his sharp cries quiet almost immediately, hitching and diminishing into wispy breaths. When Magnus presses a kiss to the fine midnight blue of Max’s hair, Alec’s throat aches, his heart expanding twelve sizes.

Ten minutes later, Magnus wanders back toward Max’s crib and lays him down gently on his back, having eased Max into slumber. He gives Alec a moment to hover silently over the crib, running his finger along the plumpness of Max’s cheek, before he takes Alec’s hand and pulls him toward the door, back toward the darkness of their own bedroom.

Wordlessly, Magnus sits him onto their bed. His hands trace Alec’s jaw, thumb grazing the sensitive skin under Alec’s eye, his own expression concerned.

“What’s wrong, Alexander?” he asks.

“What?” Alec startles.

“What’s wrong?” Magnus repeats gently.

Alec shakes his head, opens his mouth to say  _nothing_ but then –

Magnus can read him like a book written in capital letters and he knows – something is wrong. Something that’s been hovering in the back of Alec’s mind tonight, something he’s embarrassed and ashamed to even be thinking. In another life, he might have insisted that everything was fine, but hasn’t he promised Magnus all the honesty he can give?

“It’s stupid,” he says slowly. His voice is rough with exhaustion, stones in his throat as he speaks. “Really stupid, but…”

Magnus offers him a beautifully encouraging smile.

“With Max, you –” Alec pauses, frowning as he stares at his own hands. “I know he’s a baby, I know it shouldn’t matter, but. But being his dad, you – you’re so much better at this than I am. He falls asleep faster when you’re holding him while I just… I feel like I don’t know how to take care of him, and he –” Alec takes a deep breath.  _God_ , this is horrible. “He just likes you more than he likes me,” he admits.

“Oh, love,” Magnus says. He shifts to stand in front of Alec, between his knees, running his fingers through Alec’s hair, kneading against his scalp. “That’s not true.”

Alec leans forward. His forehead bumps up right under Magnus’ ribcage, his arms coming up around Magnus’ waist. “It kinda is,” he mumbles.

Magnus kneels down now, both his hands firm on Alec’s shoulders. “I understand where you’re coming from, but I think – he’s just more  _used_ to me, love. That’s it. And you know that’s because I work from home. Also because I forced all of my clients to Philly and Boston so I can have more free time.”

“I wish I didn’t have to –”

“You’re the Head of the New York Institute, Alec.” Magnus’ fingers dig into his biceps, eyes heated. “My darling, you lead one of the largest, most influential, most progressive teams within an archaic, outdated system. You’re changing the world we live in. So just – just let me change diapers for a little. Max and I will be here for you when you get back.”

“I want to be here though.”

Magnus smiles and presses a kiss to Alec’s lips, impossibly sweet and soft. “We’ve only had him for two months, Alexander, and we’ve got a lifetime to go.”

Alec makes a face, but nods. It doesn’t make it easier, but he knows that Magnus is making sense. He knows there are so many years left of being Max’s dad, of being Max’s dad with  _Magnus_ , and at that thought, Alec is kissing Magnus again, curling his hand around the nape of his neck. It gets more involved than it should at one in the morning while they’re both exhausted and their baby is sleeping fifteen feet away, but well – it’s Magnus.

“Shall we go to bed, then?” Magnus asks when they finally part. He’s grinning, mouth curved into a wide, gorgeous crescent, hair absolutely wild. “I’d love to continue, but we’re new dads and all that. Supposed to maximize sleep time.”

Alec laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> magnus, thinking of ragnor, in the days before his wedding to alec.
> 
>  
> 
> for mirella and her angst brain.

The whisky is a little bitter. Oaky, melding to spiced plums, then powdered sugar, silky and round on his tongue when he lets it wash over his tastebuds and pool at the back of his throat. When he swallows, he feels the burn all the way down to his stomach.

By habit, Magnus tries to swirl the amber liquid in its glass. His hands are trembling, though, unexpectedly, just enough for a drop to slip over the lip and splash onto his knee.

God, he’s a mess.

“I’m relieved that you know.”

Startled, Magnus looks up and rises to his feet, blood feeling sluggish in his veins as he looks up to see a man standing there. A man in a familiar frilly brown coat, skin as pale as ever, standing tall right in front of the loft’s French doors, smiling at him with those dark brows and that insufferable, fond little grin.

Ragnor.

“Are you real?” Magnus asks under his breath.  _Maybe I’m dreaming_ , he thinks. His head is already spinning with hazy images of runes and vows and lovers saying goodbye; it wouldn’t take much to get him to dream up a dead man. Dropping his mostly-empty glass to the floor, not caring if it stains the carpet, Magnus walks carefully toward the apparition, eyes honing in on the dark gleam of Ragnor’s gaze.

“I wanted to see you so many times after that night,” Magnus says quietly as he draws closer. He can hear the way his voice shakes like a brittle leaf in the wind. “You never showed, you asshole. Not a single time.” He reaches out to jab at the center of Ragnor’s chest, feeling stupid as he glares at the hallucination, his gaze lingering on the planes of Ragnor’s face, the gleaming brown horns jutting from his temples, the scratchy material of his vest.

The scratchy material of his vest.

Magnus presses harder, watching as his fingertip turns white from blood loss. Breath catching, he looks up.

Ragnor smiles. “Surprise.”

“What,” Magnus says flatly.

“I’m a little miffed that you didn’t even try to invite me to your bachelor’s party, you know. With all your prodigious talent, I’m sure you could have come up with  _something_.”

Magnus blinks, and runs his hands along the lapels of Ragnor’s coat. The golden buttons feel cold, clicking loudly against the metal of Magnus’ rings, and the velvet is patchy in places like it’s been neglected and worn down with time.

“That’s necromancy, and very illegal. And you – you’re real,” he says faintly.

“And you’re alone and drinking like the Twenty-First Amendment was just ratified,” Ragnor answers wryly. His hands grasp onto Magnus’ elbows, concern painted on his face in broad strokes in the brackets around his mouth and the lines on his forehead. “What’s wrong, Magnus?”

Magnus leans forward. This close, he can breathe in the dusty, woodsy smell that’s always accompanied Ragnor wherever he goes, that mothball-scented cologne that Magnus always used to make fun of him for. He feels his jaw quiver.

“I miss you.”

Ragnor smiles, slow and somber, and cups Magnus’ jaw. His palms are warm, rough with callouses from a lifetime of work.

“I know you do, dear,” he says, “but that’s not what’s troubling you tonight.”

Ragnor’s right, of course, the way he usually is. Magnus bites his lip, not sure what to say for once, his chest tight. He kind of wants to cry.

At that, Ragnor exhales, the expression on his face softening with comprehension that makes Magnus want to blurt out an apology. The way Ragnor looks at him, it’s like no time has passed at all, the centuries they had together before enough to compensate for the years apart, because even now, Ragnor is one of a handful of people in the world who’s understood Magnus like this. The only person other than Cat, maybe, for whom a single glance has been enough to perfectly convey the contents of an entire conversation.

“Magnus. It’s alright. You –”

“I’m getting married tomorrow, and I – I’m scared,“ Magnus mumbles.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ragnor responds, “You don’t need to be, my friend, and you don’t need me to tell you that.” He sighs, and his breath is cool on Magnus’ cheek. “This is the love you’ve been waiting for all along, isn’t it? There’s a reason why, out of the countless number of people who’ve tried to claim your heart, Alec was the one you gave it to.”

“Ragnor, if I do something wrong, say something wrong, drive him away –”

“You won’t.”

“Ragnor, don’t –”

“It’s not complicated, Magnus. He loves you. You love him.” Ragnor shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You deserve this.”

“Do I?” Magnus scoffs. “Sometimes I don’t know if I do.” He opens his mouth, then closes it. The heat in his voice dissipates as his eyes travel the length of Ragnor’s body, from his pinstriped pants to that silk cravat around his neck. Magnus had gotten that for him on his birthday thirty years ago because he’d always been absolute crap at accessorizing.

“I hate myself sometimes, you know,” he says quietly. “For finding Alexander when you – when your body was barely cold in the ground. For forgetting you, for a little bit.”

It’s a truth he’s never dared admit out loud. Just thinking about it makes him feel like the worst kind of person, like someone who tosses his companions aside at the first sight of a pretty face. And while yes, Alec had been a pretty face, he’d also been  _Alec_ , and how could Magnus have stayed away from him?

Ragnor shakes his head, his white-streaked hair falling over his ears, eyes bright with compassion that so few ever got to see. “You haven’t forgotten me in the slightest. If you truly had, I wouldn’t be here now.”

At that, Magnus tips his head forward until it’s pressed to Ragnor’s shoulder. When he closes his eyes, he can feel silent tears rolling down until they disappear into Ragnor’s coat. This should feel weird; the two of them were never touchy-feely, not in all the centuries they knew each other, mostly because Ragnor hated hugs, but maybe… maybe that’s why they’re making up for it now.

“I just want you to be happy,” Ragnor says. His voice is raspy, his chest rumbling.

“And I just want you to be  _here_ ,” Magnus answers.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there. Long enough for his lungs to stop hurting, long enough for his back to start aching a little, long enough for his heartbeat to slow to something normal. He feels nice, contented, like something misaligned inside of him just clicked into place.

“Thank you,” he eventually says. “You always did know how to make me feel better.”

“A hard-earned skill,” Ragnor says, and laughs dryly. He pulls back from Magnus, brushing his thumb over the still-wet tracks on Magnus’ face, gaze carefully roving over his features. “I’ll always be here, Magnus. In some capacity or another. So don’t worry about this, and just – do me one thing. Tell Alec hello for me, will you? He and I never got to chat.”

Magnus presses a kiss to Ragnor’s cheeks. “Okay,” he answers. And this time, when Ragnor disappears, Magnus is smiling.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maia at the hunter's moon. observing. :)

It’s a little funny, to see them together.

Not funny in a way that makes Maia laugh. It’s not that kind of humor at all. It’s more funny in a way that makes her lean her hip against the bar and sigh with unexpected contentment when she watches Magnus and Alec hanging out like totally average, normal people in the Hunter’s Moon.

The thing that nobody is aware of is that she  _knows_ Magnus. She knows him far better than a random bartender could ever expect to know the High Warlock of Brooklyn. But Magnus isn’t the same as the other bigwigs that come around, the vampires and warlocks and seelies who ask for complicated drinks and toss one dollar bills in her direction.

Maia still remembers the first time she’d seen him come into the bar three years ago. When he’d walked through the door, bring with him a rush of crisp spring air, Maia had literally stopped in her tracks and blurted out, “Damn,” because  _damn_ had he been a sight. Hair swept high, scarlet jacket emphasizing broad shoulders, ear cuffs that she wouldn’t mind wearing herself. Magnus had stood out like some untouchable supermodel – until he’d glanced across the room and met her eye, his expression kind, his smile quirking higher on the left than the right.

Maia had decided right then and there that she liked him.

Liked him, but also respected him, too. Magnus isn’t close to perfect… he isn’t always right, he’s a little mercurial, and he’s not even always  _all there_  in his head – how could he be, considering the monumental amount of shit that he’s seen in his entire lifetime – but she finds him wise and intelligent in a different, unexpected way.

Kind of like he’s the weird, quirky uncle who gives you full-sugar soda and good advice.

Over dozens of martinis, she’s had many conversations and debates with Magnus into the late night hours, when her shift is nearing its end and patrons are trickling out. Even though she’s hundreds of years younger than him, he listens to her, taking her perspective into account, answering with thoughtful commentary. They’ve covered everything, from social issues to waffle recipes to the physiological toll of werewolf transformations on the human body.

And sometimes, when they’re the last two people left in the bar – love.

He’d always gotten a little somber when that topic had come up, a little tired. Something falsely bright painted in the brown of his eyes, secrets she hadn’t wanted to pry into hidden behind that sad smile.

“Love is hard,” he’d said to her. He’d take a sip of his drink, swallowing slowly, looking truly ancient for that brief moment in time, before adding quietly, “It always is. But I know it’ll find you.”

It’s found  _you_ , she thinks as she watches Magnus now.

He and Alec are hanging by that back corner pool table, the way they do every Thursday night. Alec is bent in half as he preps for his turn, tongue poking out in concentration. Maia starts to grin when she sees Magnus obviously eyeing Alec’s butt.

And just as Alec goes to take his shot – Magnus slaps his ass.

Maia snorts out loud as Alec  _completely_ botches his turn. The chalked tip of the stick digs into the green felt, coming to a sad halt before it touches a single billiard ball. From her, Maia can’t hear then, even with her enhanced hearing, but she can see the way Alec glares at Magnus, flushed from his beer, lips pursed together in a pout.

He looks… dare she say… cute? What the fuck.

Except he is. It’s pretty obvious Alec is different when he’s alone with Magnus, way different than when he’s on the job. It’s like that constant stick in his ass disappears, and all of a sudden he’s less of a damn shadowhunter and more of a guy who’s in love.

And on Magnus’ end – Magnus is the same in a lot of ways, still bright, still kind, still the best tipper in the house, but now, Magnus is  _glowing_. The smile on his face is wide and honest, growing even more when Alec drops his cue stick, wraps his arms around Magnus’ waist, and kisses his nose.

God. It’s so fucking cute. Maia wants to scream.

“Are you watching them?”

Maia swiftly turns her head to the sound of Simon’s voice, and grins when she sees him walking toward her, hands in his pockets, hair mussed from the wind. Leaning over the counter, she purses her lips for a kiss hello, humming in satisfaction when it lands, soft and sweet on her mouth.

“I’m just observing the customers,” she answers as she pulls away. “You know. Getting to know the clientele. Being a diligent employee.”

Simon props his elbows on the bar, hands cupping his face. “You’re saying a lot of words, but all I’m hearing is that you’re still being a creeper.”

Maia rolls her eyes. “Shut up. Bar’s quiet and I have nothing else to do.”

“Excuses,” Simon answers, then follows her gaze toward the back. He wrinkles his nose, scrunching up his face in that adorable expression she loves, then asks, “Do you ever think it’s weird that you’ve got, like, nearly half of all political leaders of New York’s Shadow World getting drunk at the back of your bar?”

Maia lets out a  ungraceful wheeze-laugh. “All the damn time. Sometimes Luke joins them and it gets even worse. They’re all doofuses even they’re drunk.”

“Even Alec?”

“Especially Alec. He gets really clingy.” She pauses, before remembering, “He also babbles about how much he loves Magnus’ arms.”

“Oh my god.” Simon’s shoulders shake as he tries to stifle his laughter, eyes squeezed shut, the tips of his canines biting gently into his lips. “Oh my  _god_. You’re kidding. That’s so cute. That is  _so_ cute. What the hell?”

“Right?” Maia says. She chances another look in Magnus and Alec’s direction; they’ve completely abandoned pool in favor of just standing close and talking, Magnus’ fingers hooked into Alec’s jacket pockets, Alec’s forehead tipping down to just brush Magnus’. Her gaze then turns to Simon, the way it often does. She sees the glow of neon signs painting him in shades of pink and blue, that little hunch of his spine, the way his eyes sparkle as he watches her. Smiling, she reaches over to punch Simon lightly in the arm. “We’re cuter though, right?”

Simon rolls his eyes, and makes a face. “Dude. Duh.” 


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy birthday magnus :)

“Was today really your birthday?”

Alec asks the question quietly into the blue-gray darkness of their bedroom, the time just minutes shy of midnight. Outside, the sky is clear, and moonlight casts a silvery sheen on everything it touches, from the parted curtains to the soft definition of Magnus’ bare stomach, on which Alec’s hand is resting.

“What do you mean?” Magnus asks. His voice is syrup-thick and rough. The usual melody of it is lost in the aftermath of sleep and sex, and the sound makes Alec shiver.

Drawing a little closer, he nuzzles under Magnus’ chin, tucking his head into the curve between neck and shoulder, cold toes brushing Magnus’ calves.

He clarifies, “Is December 8 actually your birthday?” He pauses, then adds, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”

Alec isn’t sure why he’s asking; he knows the answer isn’t going to matter. But with the memory of their day on his mind, he finds himself curious. Today, they’d marked the occasion with breakfast in bed, and then a long, lazy afternoon in front of the fireplace, trading stories and kisses between sips of hot cider while sleet fell outside. It had been capped with dinner with friends and bad singing accompanying a single candle on an aggressively large chocolate cake.

But a part of Alec can’t help but wonder: how had it been before?

Under Alec’s cheek, Magnus shifts. The muscles of his shoulder are a warm, solid pillow for Alec to rest on, his arm a welcome vise around Alec’s back. Alec can almost hear Magnus thinking out loud, that brilliant mind sifting through centuries of memories and complicated thoughts. If Magnus had taken this long to answer back when they’d first gotten together, Alec would have probably panicked, imagining he’d offended Magnus, or made him angry, eternally fearful of damaging this new fragile thing he wanted so, so badly.

Now, though, he’s used to this. Used to Magnus’ moments of quiet, moments of thought, his occasional bouts of melancholy lost in old photographs and amber whiskey.

Magnus sighs eventually, a slow exhale that ruffles the hair on Alec’s forehead.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. His fingers trail absent minded lines along the faintly raised runes on Alec’s tricep. “It could be.”

“Could be?”

“I don’t know when I was born,” Magnus admits. “I don’t know what year it was. I don’t even know what season it was. So I suppose it could’ve been December 8 for all I know, even though we weren’t using the Gregorian calendar back when I was a child.”

Alec blinks. “Oh,” he says uselessly.

“Things were different then,” Magnus responds steadily. “Birthdays didn’t matter for kids like me, especially not after the rumors started swirling about the way my entire family died, except for me.”

Alec tenses. He doesn’t like to imagine Magnus like that, so far from the man Alec’s come to know, and just the effort of trying to visualize him, with big eyes and sharp elbows and knees stained with dirt from crouching alone on the side of old streets, has his chest tightening with something sour.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It’s not an apology, the way he means it. He knows he’s not responsible for Magnus’ past, that he wasn’t the one who made it so. But he is  _sorry_ , in the sense that he desperately wishes Magnus hadn’t had to go through that.

“Don’t be,” Magnus murmurs faintly, and tightens his grip on Alec in acknowledgement. “It is what it is. I’ve mostly suppressed those memories, which is undoubtedly unhealthy, while overcompensating with excessive parties.” He hums thoughtfully. “Actually that’s not healthy either.”

Alec almost laughs, but instead he presses a kiss to Magnus’ shoulder. “Sorry for making you talk about it.”

“You’re in luck. I’m only willing to talk about it with people I like, and I  _do_ like you a little.”

“Good, because I love you,” Alec answers seriously.

There’s a faint hitch in Magnus’ breath. “Oh. Well, of course you,” he starts, then swallows audibly, the roll of his Adam’s apple visible from where Alec rests. “Your bluntness will be the end of me, Alexander.”

“Hope not,” Alec quips, even as he tries to suppress a smile that threatens to explode on his face.

“We’ll see,” Magnus mutters. “Anyway,” he continues, voice cracking a little, “The ending of the story goes that since passports started becoming a thing in the 1920s, I ended up applying for one in the States and threw my favorite numbers together to give myself a birthday. And that’s that.”

Alec trails a finger down the center line of Magnus’ stomach, then stops at his belly button. “One, two, and eight?”

Magnus huffs, muscles rolling and dipping. “No, you doofus.  _Twelve_ and eight.”

Alec suppresses a laugh and rolls over into Magnus, the blankets twisting around them as he props his arms on Magnus’ chest, his chin resting on his own hands. The tight press of their bare torsos is enticing, the tacky dampness on their skin a reminder of minutes past, but he’s more focused on what his gaze can discern through the nighttime shadows.

The jut of Magnus’ cheekbone. The bridge of his nose. The spots of light reflected in the burnished gold of his eyes, interrupted only by the occasional blink.

“You’re so odd,” Alec says, then pokes at the goatee framing Magnus’ mouth.

“Takes one to know one,” Magnus breathes, and the perfect pout of his lips curves upward into a beautiful, laughing smile.

It’s all too easy to lean down and swallow that laughter, share it between the two of them until they’re both shaking from amusement. There’s still an edge of sorrow in the taste of Magnus, a flavor of heartbreak left over from their conversation, but Alec savors it, treasures the vulnerability that Magnus is showing him. It’s feathery and weightless, this thousandth kiss of theirs, a barely-there ghost of what’s possible, but for now, Alec is content with the soft heat of it and the flutter it creates under his ribs.

His mind forgets, sometimes, how happy he is. He gets caught up in the minutia of things that don’t matter; he complains about his position at work, or the weird smells coming from Magnus’ apothecary, or the way Magnus refuses to let Alec clean the dishes by hand, some part of him growing accustomed with the life he leads. Then moments like this happen, moments that wrest Alec’s thoughts away from that complacency, and the only thing Alec could possibly think is:  _I’m happy_.

“I love you,” he says then. The words burst from his mouth straight from his heart, inelegant in their delivery but honest nonetheless. “I know I say it a lot, but – I just. Yeah.”

Magnus twists so that Alec thumps off of him and back onto the mattress, then scoots down so that they’re face-to-face. Magnus’ eyes are tender and tired, breathtaking even in the dimness of the night. “And I love you,” he says.

Alec’s answer is to take his hand from where it fell at his side and runs it up the length of Magnus’ body – along the muscles of his thigh, the curve of his ass, the arc of his ribs. Magnus is beautiful in every physical sense of the word, yes, but behind the face that Alec wakes up to every morning is a better person than Alec could ever hope for in a life partner, and that’s something he’ll never take for granted.

“I hope you had a good day,” he says eventually, when the rise and fall of Magnus’ chest has steadied into something slower, something closer to slumber. “Real birthday or not.”

Magnus’ face is buried into Alec’s neck, his facial hair tickling the base of Alec’s throat, his nose smushed into the heat of Alec’s skin. “Mm,” he mumbles. “The best. Now sleep.”

It’s the easiest command for Alec to follow, to close his eyes and sink into the feeling of Magnus pressed to his side. The last thought crossing his mind is that it’s likely past midnight, likely past Magnus’ birthday – but he supposes that really doesn’t matter at all.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas from magnus and alec... and magnus and alec

Alec wakes to gray-hued winter sunlight slanting across his closed eyes, and a cool draft of air flowing in from the open bedroom door, tickling the bare skin of his exposed back. He reaches a clumsy hand out, patting around him and dragging the microplush blanket up from where it’s bunched around his hips. It warms him immediately, but still, he groans in displeasure at the realization that the other side of the bed is empty.

It’s one of Alec’s rare days off, and Magnus had promised they’d laze around together in the morning.

Alec’s not  _that_ mad about it. He loves waking up on his own after the sun’s already out, on those holidays when he gets the day off and doesn’t have early morning meetings with clients or caterers or florists. But his enjoyment of this king-sized bed is lessened when he can’t wrap his arms around Magnus’ waist, bury his face in the crook of Magnus’ neck, kiss the soft curve of his jaw until Magnus giggles and squirms.

With the slightest of frowns on his face, Alec finally opens his eyes and pulls Magnus’ pillow to his chest. “This sucks,” he mumbles, and not even the faint scent of sandalwood can make him feel better.

“Magnus,” he tries calling out. It sounds embarrassingly close to a whine.

No beloved boyfriend comes flying through the door to kiss him good morning, though. Instead, when Alec quiets down, he hears the muffled sound of conversation; it’s too softly spoken for him to be able to discern the words, but he’s comforted nonetheless by the voices he hears and the confirmation that Magnus still at home.

If they have guests, it won’t do for Alec to stay in bed, no matter how much he wants to. Groaning, he heaves himself off the mattress, swinging his legs off the side and flinching when his bare toes curl against the hardwood. Alec makes quick work of his routine in the bathroom, washing his face thoroughly with Kiehl’s Deep Pore Cleanser, applying SPF 50 sunscreen, and finally combing his hair back with a bit of pomade.

 _Who’s here? Should I dress nice?_  he texts Magnus when he’s back in the bedroom. It’s a hopeless endeavor, though, which he realizes when Magnus’ phone buzzes at his bedside table five seconds later, forgotten by its owner.

Rolling his eyes, Alec makes for the closet.

 _I need to talk to him_ , he thinks as he pulls on a soft pink linen shirt and tight-fitting, dark wash jeans. Officially speaking, he has one drawer and one closet corner that Magnus shyly offered to him a few months ago, but that’s since spilled into – well,  _everywhere_. And Magnus hasn’t said anything, has even replaced the dresser with something double in size to allow the two of them to fit all their things, but Alec feels like he should probably actually ask what exactly all of this means.

It’s the first time he’s had a boyfriend he’s wanted to move in with. He doesn’t want to get this wrong.

He does an efficient check in the mirror to make sure he looks alright – which he does, because  _of course_  he does – before he peeks out of the bedroom door. The living room is empty, though it looks lively enough with all the decorations Alec had forced Magnus to put up at the start of December. A huge tree that Magnus has magicked not to drop pine needles, decked out with shiny silver tinsel and pretty white ornaments Alec had confiscated from his mom’s house. Red and white stockings that Alec had painstakingly spent a snowy afternoon stitching their names onto in gold thread. Rainbow lights that blink to the tune of “Deck the Halls.”

After Alec had finished, Magnus had complained that people who were visiting psychics might not be into pseudo-Christian holiday decor. Alec had immediately pushed him under the foyer entryway and kissed him under a fresh sprig of mistletoe, which had promptly shut him up.

Alec can’t help but smile as he remembers that moment. He’s still smiling when he follows the rich scent of coffee in the air into the kitchen, where his gaze lands on Magnus, standing by the counter with –

With Magnus?

Magnus. With Magnus.

Because one man is definitely Magnus, with his favorite camel-toned cardigan, sensible black slacks, and beautiful, sheepish smile.

But the other guy – even though his features are identical, this other guy is like some glam rock band pipe dream wearing a jewel-toned button-down, studded leather boots, and an arrow cuff twisting around the helix of his ear, all accented with lined eyes and nail polish.

“Merry Christmas to me,” Alec breathes.

“Oh,” this other Magnus says when his gaze lands on Alec, and god, his eyes are the same type of dazzling, his voice is the same type of luscious. “Oh, wow. Are you wearing  _pink_?”

“Alexander,” Magnus – his Magnus – says. “I’m sorry I left you to wake alone. Um, this is… well, this is also Magnus. He unexpectedly dropped by an hour ago from that alternate dimension I told you about. The one that Clary came from during –”

“During the Mad Hatter’s Party where we met the first time,” Alec murmurs wondrously. “Holy cow. You’re real. Are you also magic? You must be, if you’re here. Why are you here? Are you dressed like this all the time? God, this is truly inspiring.”

“Don’t get ideas,” his Magnus says with the faintest of frowns. A small furrow forms between his brows. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to pull that off.”

A little guilt unfurls in Alec’s stomach, and he sidles closer to his Magnus, slipping his arm around his back, fingers digging into the soft material of his cardigan. “You could, if you wanted,” he says easily, honestly, then he kisses Magnus’ nose, taking in the adorable way it wrinkles. “But it doesn’t matter, since I love you no matter what you’re wearing. Or not.” He winks.

“You’re blunt as a rock here too, aren’t you?”

Alec turns around to see the other Magnus, hip cocked to one side, mug of coffee in hand. He’s grinning, which makes him look even more like some unfairly handsome god, though despite the aesthetic, Alec definitely prefers the quiet, sweet awkwardness of his own Magnus, who he had to pursue for twenty-seven days after the party before he agreed to go on a date. His own Magnus, who’s been better to Alec and better for Alec than any other man he’s been with.

“I suppose I am,” Alec says vaguely in response, then he starts to process what the other man had said. “Wait, here? You mean – oh, shoot. You know me there too? What am I like there?” He pauses, and taps his lip. “Am I dating you there too? Please tell me I am.”

The other Magnus pauses, then throws his head back and laughs, and this –  _this_ is exactly the same. The rolling peals of joy, higher-pitched than expected, heaving breaths that make those broad shoulders shake. It’s the best type of deja vu.

“No need to worry, you absolutely are,” he says between laughs. “You just moved into my loft a week ago. We made sure to time it so we could celebrate the holidays together.”

“Oh,” Magnus and Alec say at the same time. Alec feels Magnus stiffen in his arms, hears his own breath catch. God, they really do need to talk.

The other Magnus’ lined brown eyes go wide, and he raises a hand. “Ah – ignore that. I’m already breaking seventeen Clave rules by making this visit, and probably an eighteenth for talking about my dimension. I just wanted to check in after all the chaos my friends caused earlier this year. Plus I got curious Clary told me that she’d met a version of me that had somehow turned into some recluse psychic with questionable magical abilities.”

“They’re not questionable,” Alec says indignantly, and steps up closer to the other Magnus, who smells disturbingly of sandalwood. “Magnus – my Magnus is great at magic. The best.”

Magnus tugs on his arm, hair flopping over his forehead, eyes warm and chiding. “No need to defend my honor, Alexander. I  _am_ a little rusty, especially compared to this – this Magnus. He’s very powerful.”

“Ergo  _you’re_ very powerful,” Alec retorts immediately.

“Okay, okay, boys,” the other Magnus says with a little snicker, . “It’s an irrelevant argument, because all versions of me are powerful. Some are just out of practice. But once you’re back in the swing of things, feel free to portal over a dimension or two. Come murder a demon or two with me.”

“Sounds like a horrible idea, but okay,” his Magnus says.

Glam Magnus pads closer, and reaches out to shake his counterpart’s hand. “Speaking of other dimensions,” he says, “I actually do need to get back to mine. I’ve been here awhile, and spending significant amounts of time in alternate universes is always a dangerous practice, no matter how good I am at maintaining a separate body. That, and I’d like to return to my own New York and my own boyfriend.”

Before he can stop himself, Alec blurts out, “Wait, before you go – can I see a picture of me? Of the other me?”

The other Magnus chuckles, then pulls out his phone from his back pocket. He unlocks the screen with his thumb and raises the phone up to show the wallpaper photo he has.

And – okay. There it is. His alternate universe self. The picture looks like it’s taken at home, this Alec curled up on the couch, holding a mug of hot chocolate close to his face, whipped cream smeared on his lips. He’s not too different – his arms look a little more muscular, his hair a little messier, his clothes a little plainer. But his smile looks as familiar as what Alec sees in the mirror each morning as he stares straight in the camera. The only  _really_ different thing is…

“What the hell is that tattoo? All those tattoos? Magnus, you didn’t tell me that alternate universe had a cult in it.”

“Good luck explaining that,” the other Magnus says, and promptly takes his phone back. He spins gracefully on his heels, before snapping and doing some vigorous arm gesture that creates a huge purple swirling thing in the middle of the kitchen. “It truly was lovely catching up, Magnus, and meeting you, Alec. I’m glad to see the two of you are doing well.”

Magnus blinks, then offers a very real, genuine smile. “Yeah. You too.”

“Well, then, I’ll off now. Happy holidays!” the other Magnus says cheerfully, then steps into the magic light thing and disappears with a blip.

The residual silence feels overwhelming as Alec stares at the empty kitchen. He’s gotten used to Magnus and the quirky charm of his magic, grown to love it, even, but that – that was a lot.

“So, uh,” Magnus says, and presses closer to Alec’s side. He threads their fingers together and leans his cheek on Alec’s shoulder. “Happy holidays.”

Alec turns to face Magnus, walks him backwards, and pushes him down into a dining room chair. Without a word, he drops into Magnus’ lap, ignoring the little oof that comes from Magnus’ lips.

“Okay, Santa,” he says. “Tell me all about the cult.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy new year everybody :)

Magnus is dancing.

Alec stares quietly out across the makeshift dance floor that’s been erected in the Phi Psi living room, sad cup of jungle juice forgotten in his hand, and feels a sigh bursting from his lungs.

From where he stands, he can see that Magnus’ eyes are closed, hips rolling, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make Alec’s mouth dry. There are other partygoers pressed against him, as if the proximity will entice Magnus to place his hands on their hips and dance with them, but it doesn’t happen; Magnus just grins warmly at them before throwing his arms up in the air and twisting his body.

It’s easier for Alec to turn away and make for the snowy backyard than it is to keep watching from the sidelines, the way he has been since walked in half an hour ago. His only excuse for letting Magnus drag him along had been to help walk Izzy home to her dorm after the party, not to – to  _pine_. But all he’s been doing is pining, today and yesterday and every day for the past three years, ever since he’d stumbled upon Magnus Bane holed up in the biological sciences section of the library, pen in his mouth and fingers caressing the pages of a notebook, looking like the best thing Alec’s ever seen while sitting on that dingy, gum-stained polyester chair, and blurted out a stupid, “Uh, hey.”

His breath fogs like smoke in the cold air, and Alec shivers as he steps out onto the porch overlooking the wide-open space behind the house. Absentmindedly, he drags a finger through the fresh-fallen snow that’s gathered on the ledge next to him. When he looks down, he realizes he’s written out the name  _Magnus_ in horrible, scraggly cursive.

 _God_. With a frustrated huff, he wipes his hand through the snow, erasing all traces of the unbearable heartache that comes with being in love with his best friend. His best friend, who he can’t bear to lose if he were to do something as ridiculous as kiss him, or confess, or any of the other multitude of things that cross Alec’s mind on a daily basis.

He blames dumb New Year’s traditions for making him so maudlin.

Otherwise, why would he be like this? Everything’s fine. Life at home is a little horrible, which is the only reason why he and his siblings are back on campus early, but otherwise, he has nothing to complain about. He likes studying polisci, he’s led the archery club to victory in the past eight competitions they’ve participated in, he been going on dates…

So what if it’s been six months since his last one, and what if that particular guy had showed up in salmon-colored shorts and smelled like overripe banana?

Unimportant.

From inside, the sound of yelling starts to get louder, raucous shrieks and laughter spilling outside. It’s five minutes to midnight, Alec notes when he checks his phone. No wonder they’re getting rowdy.

It’s better to be out here, Alec thinks, and he plants his butt on the ledge. Better to welcome the new year with snow falling around him and crisp, cold air on his skin than inside a Axe-scented frat house, angling for a kiss from someone he doesn’t even want.

He hears the faintest creak from behind him, followed by an increase in volume, some medley of voices coming from the living room. He ignores it until the nonsensical sound turns into something understandable – turns into “Alexander.” He twists around to see – to see  _Magnus_ , head poking out there back door. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

Alec smiles, wider than he means to. “Hey.”

Magnus walks over to him, with all that unbelievable, casual grace he’s had since Alec first met him, and plops next to him, grimacing when he makes contact with the ledge. “Damn, Alec, it’s freezing.”

Alec shrugs easily. His gaze catches on Magnus’ slightly smudged eyeliner, the curl of magenta-dyed hair falling over his forehead, the bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “I kinda like it.”

“You would,” Magnus responds. His voice is warm and teasing, and the sound of it makes Alec’s toes curl in his boots.

They sit in comfortable silence – silence between the two of them, at least – for a minute, enjoying the calm away from the storm taking place inside. This is one of the best things about Magnus, Alec thinks – sure, he’s the definition of an extrovert, thriving in social settings in a way Alec can’t even begin to comprehend, but he’s also great at enjoying the quieter moments that Alec loves basking in. It makes something inside Alec sing to know it.

“Can’t believe the year’s over,” he eventually says to break the silence. “Actually, I can’t believe it’s  _your_ last year here. Do – do you remember how I ran into your spot at the library and you let me study with you even though I was the loser freshman getting lost on his third week at school?” Alec chuckles, the noise thick and gravelly. “I was just thinking about it, you know? I always wonder what would’ve happened if I’d turned left instead of right in the stacks and hadn’t bumped into you at all.”

Magnus clears his throat, and looks down at his studded black boots. “I’d probably have a roommate who could cook instead of a guy who manages to burn stew in a slow cooker.”

“Ha, yeah,” Alec says. “Well… you’ll probably get that anyway. Since you’re leaving me in five months,” he adds, because apparently he likes to make himself miserable.

“Yeah.”

Alec laughs, but it sounds hollow to his own ears. “You know, Izzy told me over Christmas dinner that I could hang out with her next year if I ever got lonely with you gone. My own  _sister_  is offering me her social circle to help me get through senior year.” He shakes his head. “I really need to find new friends.”

Magnus turns to face him, his eyes wide, his mouth open. The open, joyful look on his face from before is gone; he looks legitimately upset, like Alec’s joke hadn’t landed, and he can’t begin to guess why. “You – no, you don’t.”

Alec makes a face. “Unless you want me to be a hermit and play Stardew Valley all day long between class and archery practice while you’re off being an adult, I actually do. Which is fine, I knew it was gonna happen, but it’s still weird to think about.”

Magnus still looks distressed, looks like he’s about to say something, but he’s prevented from answering by more loud shouts coming from inside.

“You should go back in, Magnus,” Alec offers with a wry smile. Something in his chest aches as he says it. “Find your person. Who’d you kiss last year? Sadie from Bio 325? Whoever it is, you’ve got two minutes left, it sounds like.”

Magnus raises his hand to twist at his silver ear cuff. The expression on his face – it softens, looks wistful all of a sudden, and his eyes hone in on Alec’s with determination and inexplicable intent. “I know.”

Alec pauses, noticing the way Magnus is clearly  _not_ going back in. Something in his head is not computing. “You… you know?”

“Yes,” Magnus answers.

“And you’re not going back in?”

“…no.”

Alec swallows, a lump suddenly appearing in his throat. His palms are sweating. He might be suffering from extreme blood loss to the brain. “Did – did you know what time it was when you came out here?” he asks softly.

Magnus shifts closer, and his shoulder bumps against Alec’s, solid and warm. The movement is familiar, but the way Magnus is looking at him… it’s familiar too, because it’s the way Magnus  _always_ looks at him, but for the first time, Alec reads Magnus’ face differently. He notices the fond warmth in his eyes, the nervous quirk of his smile. He watches the way Magnus’ mouth curves open as he says, “I did.”

“Magnus,” Alec says, and chokes when Magnus’ hand lands on his, their fingers curling together intimately. The touch sends out an impossible kind of hope that spreads from Alec’s hand, traveling up his arm, through his heart, down to his very toes, until his entire body is suffused with this surreal, jittery feeling. “Magnus, you –”

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Magnus says, and his grip on Alec’s hand tightens. He leans in close enough for Alec to see the long sweep of his lashes, the little mole above his eyebrow. “Maybe I’ve been reading this all wrong,” he continues, and the words fall out of him, rapidfire and unstoppable. “Maybe you don’t want to hear this, but I can’t hear you talk about the future like – like I’m not in it. Like there’s gonna be a before and an after for us.”

“Magnus, what are you saying –”

Magnus smiles, but he looks a little sad despite the handsomeness of his grin. “I’m saying I’d rather dance alone than dance without you.” He shrugs, but the gesture is more nervous than anything else. “I’ve wanted to tell you this for the longest time, Alexander. I’ve just been scared. You’re my best friend, you know?  _You’re_  my person.”

Alec can’t stop himself from saying, “You’re my person too.”

Magnus scoots even closer, and suddenly Alec can feel the muscle of his thigh, the bone of his elbow, flat against his side. “So now you know, then. How I feel about you.”

 _Ten_ , Alec hears booming from inside. The sound matches the pounding of his heart.

“Magnus?” Alec whispers. There’s nothing he can see except for Magnus’ eyes, nothing he can feel except the iciness of Magnus’ hand holding his and the puff of his breath against Alec’s cheek. They’ve always been close, but never like this – physically, mentally, heart-to-heart close.

_Nine. Eight. Seven._

“Alexander, I – I want to kiss you,” Magnus says. “Please.” Alec inhales sharply. He feels something click inside of his chest.

_Six. Five. Four._

Carefully, Alec raises a palm to cup Magnus’ cheek, marveling at the fact that this past minute’s revelation has given him permission to do so. He takes in the faint red of Magnus’ nose, the tightness of his jaw, the trembling of Magnus’ bottom lip. When he brushes his thumb against it, the skin is chapped and soft, just like Alec had spent the past three years imagining.

 _Three. Two. One_.

“Magnus,” he sighs, with all the feeling he’s ever felt for Magnus imbued into the name. “God, I –  _yes_ ,” he says, and he wants to laugh, to laugh  _for real_ , as he repeats, “Yes, yes,  _yes,_ ”and tips forward into Magnus’ arms to kiss him for the first time.

 _Zero_.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a baby is born, and asmodeus takes note

A baby is born.

One of hundreds born in a minute, one of billions of souls in this dimension, just another prickle of awareness at the back of a god’s consciousness, but this –

This baby.

Unexpectedly, with sudden and startling speed, the prickle grows into a spark grows into a flame that  _blazes_ , and Asmodeus rises from his throne, mind’s eye soaring past the sands of hell into cold, black ocean before rising from the water to land upon a crystal beach that sparkles under a sharp sliver of moon. In the night’s darkness, the island appears vaguely familiar, a distant memory from a recent past that was meant to be forgotten, and so it is odd that he’s returned, odd that he allows the dust of his body to turn to flesh here once more.

The air smells of salt, briny and fresh.

He wanders, slow now, through copses of ficus trees and shallow ponds ringed with orchids before he enters a clearing. The initial rush is over – now that he’s arrived, he is certain of what he’s here for, because he can feel the very atmosphere of this place tingling in welcome, expanding to accept the wealth of typhoon-strong power that’s came earlier tonight. So he takes his time to examine the thatched-roof huts and muddy paths of this place, to eavesdrop on the rolling syllables of conversation and sound of life.

Because this is where the baby will grow up.

His feet take him in slow, deliberate strides to the edge of the little village, to a home where fire still flickers orange from inside the open windows. He peers in, chin tilted down, as invisible as any shadow, smoke fingers curling as he lays his eyes upon them.

Her face – it triggers the faintest of recollections. She had been frailer, then, thick black hair twisted around her shoulder, brown eyes gentle, bowed lips smiling innocently. He had wanted her with an easy kind of desire, because she was pretty and sweet and  _there_ , and so he’d acquired the likeness of her husband and taken her, thinking nothing of it when he’d left her. After all, who was she, in the midst of countless mortals, for him to spare a thought for?

Which is why he is surprised with this development – surprised that she, with her bland, useless blood and her weak, breakable body – managed  _this_. Managed to create the boy cradled in her arms, a boy with fat cheeks, a shock of dark hair, gummy shrieks, and eyes yet to show the truth.

The truth that Asmodeus came for.

He sees, clear as day, under the thin layer of this baby’s skin, the flow of his blood rushing through his veins, an intimately familiar, if slightly diluted scent of hot, sugary copper. But even more shocking is the sheer volume of  _power_  contained in that tiny body, fierce and crackling, waiting for its moment to appear, to unleash itself upon the world. Of all of the offspring born from haphazard encounters, in this dimension and the next infinite number, none have been so noticeable, so  _obviously his_ , as this.

Asmodeus wets his lips, because he can taste – he can taste possibility.

He sees a baby, turning into a boy under his tutelage. He sees a boy turning into a man with golden eyes and a terrible smile who rules at his side, a rightful heir deserving of the kingdom he owns. He sees someone he can grow to almost trust, because who could ever be more loyal to him than his own blood?

The baby burbles, then, chubby arms flailing, tiny fingers grabbing at his mother’s nose. Her face is flushed and sweat is on her brow but she’s smiling, laughing, bringing her baby up to her face and inhaling his new baby smell. As she does it, the baby’s eyes, still unseeing, flicker toward the window; there’s no way he knows who’s standing there in wait, but no matter what, like speak to like, and it feels like a promise as their gazes meet.

Asmodeus steps back, away from the cozy sight, satisfied. He lets his body disintegrate into the earth, into the sand crunching underfoot, before he forms once more on Edom’s throne, crow’s head cane in hand. On impulse, he snaps, and a smaller, equally gilded throne appears on his right. He smiles at the sight of it; he wonders how long it will be empty before it finally gets filled, then turns away.

He has plans to make.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in whic magnus finally takes alec out to see a movie

“Why can’t we just stay at home?” Alec asks.

He glances left, then right, shifting uncomfortably on his toes when people pass too close. A gaggle of teenage girls start squealing when he makes eye contact with them, their heads huddling together as they continue to steal glances at him. The one with a blonde braid waves surreptitiously. Alec clears his throat and turns back toward Magnus. “We always watch movies at home.”

Magnus doesn’t say anything, humming under his breath instead as he pumps butter onto the large popcorn he just bought, half-smiling all the while. The cheap cardboard sits easily in his hands, though it doesn’t look quite right, Alec thinks.

The elegant lines of Magnus’ hands are better suited for a wine glass, swirling with dark, red Merlot that glistens on his lips after he takes a sip. Or the fountain pen he uses to sign contracts with a bold, pretty flourish. Or Alec’s own hand, fingers intertwined.

Magnus turns around with a graceful twirl to interrupt Alec’s thoughts, the silver buttons on his coat flashing with the bright lights overhead. He nudges Alec with his hip, hands full with popcorn and a box of chocolates unattractively named Milk Duds.

“Even magic can’t quite replicate a theater screen and surround sound, Alexander,” he says simply, leaning against Alec as they watch people flow past.

“I know,” Alec says, a hint of telltale reluctance in his voice. A part of him is annoyed at his own hesitation, but it’s not unfounded. He shakes his head a little, thinking of the sofa and his throw blanket hanging over the armrest, of Magnus’ hand carding through his hair. “Home is nice, though,” he says quietly.

Magnus smiles, eyes glittering warmly as he stares at Alec for a moment that edges on too long. “Home  _is_  nice,” he agrees, “but this will be nice too.” He leans forward to kiss Alec on the cheek, lips dry and warm and sweetly-soft against his skin.

Alec clears his throat.

He follows after Magnus to Cinema 8, hooking his finger in Magnus’ belt loops as they pass clumps of people coming in and out, loathe to be apart from him any time, but especially now. The theater lights are already dimming as they walk in, and Alec frowns when they have to awkwardly squeeze between people already in their seats before he and Magnus sit down.

“What are we watching again?” he murmurs quietly. The sound of explosions fills the air as a preview for some action movie comes on.

“It’s a French indie film,” Magnus answers easily before popping a Milk Dud in his mouth. “I would’ve picked some Marvel movie or another, but I know you’ve already seen all of those with Simon, so at least give me this.”

“I didn’t –” Alec starts to protest, until Magnus raises an eyebrow, gazing at him with that lazy, imperious expression on his face, eyes reflecting the electric blue glow from the screen, daring him to disagree. “Fine,” Alec says. “I did.”

It’s not exactly cause for embarrassment, if Alec is honest with himself. Hanging out with Simon had been odd, but unexpectedly enjoyable even if Simon still talks too much, and though Alec will always want to spend time with Magnus or his family first… Simon’s alright. For now, though, Alec settles into his seat, a little resentful of the armrest that lies between him and Magnus, before reaching for the popcorn and startling a little when he feels Magnus’ hand already there.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

Magnus doesn’t say anything, a teasing grin spreading beautiful on his face while he threads his fingers through Alec’s, and though it means Alec has to use his other hand to awkwardly reach over for popcorn, he finds it’s not something he’s complaining about.

The movie, as it begins, isn’t bad – lots of tense music and furtive looks and rolling French words that Alec can’t understand. He compares it to the sound of Magnus speaking French, hands gesturing as he talks into the phone to a far-off client, voice mellifluous and warm as it wraps around a language he knows as well as he knows English. Absentmindedly, Alec wonders if he should learn French, or one of the twenty languages Magnus knows. Maybe it could be a surprise for Magnus somewhere down the line…

At the moment when Alec realizes he’s starting to fall asleep, Magnus let go of his hand. The immediate objection on Alec’s tongue is silenced when he turns to see Magnus raising the armrest between them, grabbing hold of Alec and tugging gently until Alec’s leaning against Magnus, tucked firmly into the curve of his side. And barely a moment later, he feels Magnus’ arm heavy around his shoulders, his black-painted nails scratching gently at Alec’s scalp, the way Alec likes when they’re home.

He tries to concentrate on the movie again, but it’s a half-hearted effort; pillowed against the firmness of Magnus’ chest, Alec just wants to lose himself in Magnus’ touch, to shrink away from the cool air in the theater and sink deeper into the heat of his skin. This close, his eyes are drawn up to the the curve of Magnus’ cheek and the bow of his lips, highlighted by the wavering glow of whatever’s on the screen. Impulsively, Alec pushes himself up, pressing the faintest of kisses to the corner of Magnus’ mouth.

“You’re distracting me from a critical point in the story,” Magnus whispers lowly, hand cupping the back of Alec’s head, pulling faintly at his hair. “I think they’re about to –”

Alec curls his fingers around the sharp edge of Magnus’ jaw, pulling their lips together, because sure, there’s a movie on but what else can he do when Magnus is  _right there_? At the farthest edges of his mind, Alec knows they’re still at the theater, still in  _public_ , but it’s so dark, and Magnus is holding onto him so tightly…

There’s too-sweet chocolate and salt at the seam of Magnus’ lips, and Alec draws closer, feeling the soft rumble of Magnus’ groans against his palms underneath the swooping soundtrack still playing behind them. It keeps Alec present in his body, reminds him that there are other people here; it makes it oddly thrilling and illicit to know that anybody, if they tried to steal a glance, would see Alec, wrapped in the strong hold of his boyfriend. Magnus’ other arm snakes along Alec’s bicep, down his stomach, before dipping under his sweater and tickling the skin of his waist. The hard plastic of the armrest is digging into his shoulder, but Alec continues to lean in, chest plastered to Magnus’, his feet hooking under Magnus’ ankles.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts – one minute, or thirty, or a lifetime, maybe. It stops and starts, heavy kisses turning to gentle touches, and Alec is surprised at how much he loves this, hidden away in a movie theater, popcorn underfoot and world forgotten while he loses himself in Magnus’ warmth.

Suddenly, their seats jolt with an unexpected kick, the harshly whispered  _sorry!_  from the row behind them slowly penetrating into Alec’s fogged mind. With a blush on his cheeks and a sigh on his lips, he drops back away from Magnus, promptly pulling Magnus’ arm against his chest and resting his cheek against the curve of his bicep. He gives himself a bit of time to calm his breath, inhaling and exhaling at slow intervals.

“Did we…” Alec turns to see Magnus looking at him, lips slick and enticing. “Did we just make out like teenagers at a movie theater?”

Alec frowns. “I never did that.”

“You should’ve had the chance to,” Magnus says quietly. The expression on his face is kind but melancholy. It’s the way he always looks when the two of them are talking about Alec’s past, like he’s unhappy on Alec’s behalf that he never got the chance to be a carefree, stupid kid.

“Maybe I was waiting so I could do it all with you,” Alec says. It’s the truth, he thinks – who else could he ever imagine being like this with other than Magnus?

A smile starts to show on Magnus’ face, but he bites his lip like he’s trying to hide it. Alec laughs at that, then sighs, shifting until he’s comfortably pressed into Magnus’ side, staring blankly at the screen without actually absorbing any of what’s happening. He’s pretty sure that once they get out of the theater, he’s going to have to look up the plot on Wikipedia, because he’s solidly missed at least sixty percent of it. Until then, though, he reaches for the forgotten bag of popcorn in Magnus’ lap, tossing a piece into his mouth and hoping he’ll be able to piece together enough of the plot before Magnus tempts him with another kiss.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maryse and isabelle talking before a wedding :)

Maryse leans closer toward the mirror, and stares impassively at the wrinkles on her face.

They’re there around her eyes. Bracketing her mouth. Cutting across the expanse of her forehead like cracks in the pavement.

She lifts her hand to her cheek and tugs at the bags under eyes; they smooth out with the motion, then shift back into existence once she lets go, shadows collecting in places that used to stay smooth and rosy and full. She goes to drop her hand back into her lap, but – oh. Because the wrinkles are there, too, in the jut of her knuckles and the blue-green veins that run like water trickling across the backs of her hands.

Maryse has always taken care of her appearance. Early on, it had been because looks were as much a part of the game as political power was; now, it’s mostly for herself, because she enjoys lipstick and perfume and the occasional face mask. But it doesn’t change the fact that she isn’t young anymore, and that she’s not the same woman she was twenty, thirty years ago.

In more ways than one.

“Al _right_ ,” Maryse hears from behind here, and in the mirror, she sees Isabelle walking into the room. She’s wearing a lovely floor-length dress, with little caps on the shoulders accented with gold thread. Somehow, she’s steady as ever on her five-inch heels, even with a legitimate  _toolbox_ full of makeup clutched in her hands. It’s a skill Maryse has never quite understood. “You ready?” Isabelle asks.

Maryse takes a deep breath, then exhales as she sits back in her chair, as if that’s enough to release all the anxious thoughts in her mind and send them out into the ether. “Yes.”

Isabelle makes a face at the response. She’s still for a moment, lips pressed together in thought, then she moves to set the box down on the counter before making her way behind Maryse’s chair. “Mom,” she says, gentle as anything, and then Maryse feels Isabelle’s hands on her shoulder, combing into her thick hair and twisting it into one long rope. “What’s up? Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing, Isabelle,” Maryse says immediately, the instinct to soothe and deny still engrained in her behavior. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you getting cold feet?” Isabelle asks. Her eyes suddenly go wide, and her grip on Maryse’s arm tightens.

Maryse startles. “No, no, I’m not,” she says, before shaking her head. “Definitely not. I’m just – I’m thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

It’s hard to come up with something to say right then. Hard to put words to the thoughts in her head. Because what Maryse is thinking is this: that in the mirror’s reflection, she can see her daughter, her dark eyes and dark hair a spitting image to the young woman Maryse used to be. Yet despite how much Isabelle looks like Maryse, despite the surface-level similarities, all Maryse can think is that when she was Isabelle’s age, she was never  _like_ Isabelle.

Never this compassionate, this sympathetic, this genuinely concerned for others.

Maryse had grown up in another era of shadowhunter society. One where a woman’s worth came from her last name, if she couldn’t earn a position for herself; one where the fight to claw upwards gave her thicker skin and a harder heart than she’d ever wanted. Somewhere in the middle of that war, she’d closed herself off, adopted the opinions of those around her, rationalized that ruthlessness and cruelty and coldness were needed to win. So she’d spent years trying to teach her children in the same way, teaching them that success took priority over kindness, furious at them when they didn’t listen.

“Mom?”

Maryse blinks. “Sorry, I just.” She pauses, then slowly reaches up across her chest to lay her hand on Isabelle’s, where it’s still on her shoulder. “I love you, you know?”

Isabelle’s expression softens, the red of her lips growing full as she relaxes. Her smile is warm as she says, “I love you too.”

“I don’t say it often enough,” Maryse says, and makes eye contact with her daughter in the mirror. “To any of you.” She pauses, then takes a breathe. “It took me a long time to get here – too long – but I’m a better person for having children like the four of you.”

Isabelle doesn’t say anything immediately, leaning down instead to tuck her chin against Maryse’s neck. Maryse notices the way her mouth quivers a little at the corners.

“When did you get so sappy?” Isabelle asks.

Maryse twists a little, then presses a kiss to Isabelle’s temple. “I’m getting married today, sweetheart. If there was ever a day to be sappy, this would be it.”

Isabelle laughs at that, a bright and joyful sound that makes Maryse’s heart settle in the best, most comforting of ways. She recognizes now, more than ever, how precious that laughter is; it had been touch and go for a while, back when Robert was still around and the Clave had still been nipping at Maryse’s heels, back when Maryse hadn’t afforded her daughter the time and attention she deserved. She’d been too focused on Jace and his ties to Clary Fairchild, on Alec’s unprecedented love for a man who’s now her son-in-law, on  _everything else_ , to see that her daughter was getting pushed to the side, forgotten and hurting.

Maryse is learning, though. She’s not the same anymore.

Eventually, Isabelle’s laughter calms to chuckles. “I’m happy for you, Mom,” she says softly. “I really am.”

Maryse smiles, and says, “Thank you, Isabelle. I’m – I’m happy too.”

Turning, Isabelle goes to fiddle with the makeup box, unlatching the lid to the sound of containers and jars knocking against each other. Maryse catches her surreptitiously swiping at her eyes, making sure not to smudge her eyeliner.

“Now,” she says, then holds up a cushion foundation and a fluffy brush. “Let’s get your makeup done, or Luke’s going to be mad if he can’t marry you on time.”

Maryse nods, then turns her chin upward to expose her face to the light. “Alright,” she says. “I’m ready.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's something alec wants to ask simon about...

Okay, this is weird.

Partially because Simon is in the Institute, which is really not a place he likes to hang out for  _reasons_ , but also because he’s standing in a dark office waiting for the Head of the Institute.

Which would be Alec. Who still mostly looks at Simon like he’s invisible. Meaning he doesn’t look at Simon at all. Which is exactly why getting a message from him to meet here is weird.

The office is mostly impersonal, all mahogany and yellow-lit lamps that fit in better with the early twentieth century than they do today. There are papers stacked neatly under a weight, a few pens strewn about, and just two picture frames: one with Jace with his arms looped around Izzy and Alec, and the other with Magnus kissing Alec’s cheek… are they on a beach? Magnus looks like  _that_ without a shirt?

Before he has time to snoop more, the door creaks open, and Simon jumps ten feet backwards, stumbling into a chair and nearly tipping it over. Alec walks in with an eyebrow already raised, looking all tall and handsome and imposing, the way he usually does. Wordlessly, he turns and shuts the door, pulling his stele from his pocket to draw some rune over the handle before making his way toward the seating area. He unceremoniously drops into an armchair with all that indescribable Shadowhunter grace and points to the chair Simon nearly toppled.

“Sit.”

Simon sits.

“There’s something I want to ask you about,” Alec says as he leans back, crossing his legs and grasping the arms firmly, staring resolutely into Simon’s eyes. Simon blinks, noting the black blazer and navy shirt that Alec’s wearing. It’s a far cry from all the heavy leather that Simon remembers keenly.

Not that Alec looks any less intimidating without the leather; Simon can sort of fight now, but Alec could probably still kick his ass in his fancy new clothes without too much issue. But he also looks a little… warmer. More comfortable. Like his skin isn’t too tight for his body anymore.

And happier, too. Alec looks happier. That perpetual pinched look on his face, all misery and snark and  _shut up, Simon_  has been replaced with something less angry. Something softer, nicer, that probably comes with being… well, probably with being in love. God knows it’s how Simon’s been feeling around Maia; her smile, her laugh, the way she just fits seamlessly into the chaos of his life –

“You’re not listening,” Alec says, eyebrow raised again, finger tapping against the armrest.

Okay. Selectively nice.

“Sorry, sorry,” Simon says, cringing a little at the bright glint of Alec’s eyes. “What can I do for ya?”

Alec exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he hunches over his knees, resting his elbows on his thighs and looking strangely antsy, like he’d rather be taking on ten demons than be here. After a spell, he finally says, “You’re immortal.”

Simon frowns. “Yeah,” he flashes his fangs and points. “Vampire, you know. You were around for the whole shebang.”

Alec ignores that, studying Simon instead. Having his full attention is an intimidating thing, like a spotlight drowning everything else in black until Simon can see nothing else but the harsh shine of it. He can’t tell if he likes it or not.

“What’s it like?” Alec asks simply.

“What?” Simon blurts out. “Immortality? Uh, I mean, I just won’t die?”

“I know what immortality is, Simon. I’m asking about what it’s  _like_.”

“Are you trying to get information on how to defeat new vamps or something?” Simon wonders out loud, feeling defensive already, “because that’s really not cool, and I resent the fact that –”

“No,” Alec says, raising a hand to stop Simon’s question in its tracks. “That’s absolutely not it. I just have questions about –” Alec runs a hand over his face, dragging roughly over his mouth, frustration evident in his expression. “How do you  _feel_?”

“You’re asking me about my feelings?” Simon wonders incredulously.

Alec rolls his eyes. “Simon, can you just answer without the extra –?” He flicks his wrist jerkily.

Simon makes a face. “Fine, fine, geez. Uh, I’m scared, I guess, about immortality.“

It’s the truth; for the most part, that’s  _all_ Simon has been able to feel about this. Dying had been bad, and coming back to life had been bad, but this? This is something his brain isn’t really capable of processing, choosing instead to stow it away in the farthest recesses of his mind; it’s easier to distract himself with a thousand other things than to have conversations like this.

"I don’t want to think about watching people die,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want to think about forever.”

Alec exhales, his eyes suddenly going dark, a deep cut forming between his brows. His face goes through something complicated, his mouth working soundlessly before it all smooths out into something more… sympathetic. Simon knows Alec won’t ever understand, but it looks like he’s trying, and he feels the heavy weight in his gut lighten just a shade.

Simon leans back in his chair and makes a show of shrugging. “Maybe you’ve heard this from Magnus before. Parts of it suck, but I – I don’t wanna get bummed out by it. Time’s gonna pass, and people are gonna come and go no matter what I do. Magnus and Raphael and all of them have made it this long and they’re mostly sane – no offense – so I’m hopeful, I guess. They’ve had friends to help them through it, and I’ll have them around the whole time.”

“Yeah, that’ll – that’s a good point,” Alec says. His eyes are unfocused now and his voice floats a little, hazy and contemplative.

“Right? Can you imagine sitting on Magnus’ balcony and drinking tea or whatever and watching flying cars go by?” Simon laughs; it’s a little rough, but honest in its sentiment. “Well, I mean, only if he invites me. I can’t tell how much he likes me.”

“He likes you.”

Simon looks up. Alec is smiling, now, a little smile that touches his eyes. “I mean it. He does. You should should come by more often. We’ve always got blood on stock for vampires, so. Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t mind? Don’t you, uh. Don’t you live there too?”

Alec shrugs as he unfolds from the chair and stands tall, somehow looking less imposing this time. “Yeah, I do. And I wouldn’t mind. You’re okay,” he says.

“Really?” Simon is oddly excited by the fact,  _ecstatic_ , actually, and he bounces on his toes as he gets up to follow Alec. “That’s awesome, seriously, I thought you –”

“Don’t push it, Simon,” Alec says as he heads for the door, swiftly drawing another rune to unlock it. “Thanks for stopping by and talking.”

Simon pauses. “Why did you ask any of that? Not that you need to share, but it was kinda random. And I don’t feel like I actually told you anything.”

Alec shakes his head and pats Simon on the shoulder. His hand is heavy, and Simon realizes it’s probably the first time Alec’s voluntarily touched him.

“Nothing you need to worry about. Thanks for coming over to chat, Simon. It was – it was helpful. I really do appreciate it.”

There’s no more that Simon can think to add as he’s gently shoved out of the office. He pivots on his heels to see Alec staring back at him, a thoughtful expression on his face, gaze flickering bright and mouth upturned, before he disappears behind the creak of a heavy wooden door, leaving Simon alone in the hallways of the Institute, wondering what the hell any of that was.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lightwood family feels, featuring the one we always forget about

God, this is stupid.

Not the  _situation_. There’s nothing stupid about where Max is at, or what’s happening today, or any of that. What’s stupid here is Max, and the weird, empty feeling in his stomach that has nothing to do with hunger.

From his spot outside the door, he can see friends and strangers intermingling, all dressed to the nines. Most of them look happy to be here: there’s a pair of warlocks who are laughing, some vaguely familiar shadowhunters who are making inexplicable hand gestures, and Mom and Luke standing together and talking to Catarina. Even Dad doesn’t look miserable despite the fact he’s sitting on his own and making shifty eyes at the downworlders who walk past him.

Exhaling, Max unbuttons the front of his suit jacket until it’s hanging loose, then makes his way over to the stairs to sit on the cold cement. Leaning back on the palms of his hands, he stares up at the sky. It’s almost absurd how perfect it looks – it’s one of those early summer days when the air is just short of balmy, clouds drifting lazily over blue as a faint breeze blows eastward.

He feels himself frowning, then closes his eyes.  _Stupid_.

The sounds from inside ebb and flow in volume, but in the end, Max is a shadowhunter still, so he recognizes the steady plod of footsteps coming his way. He’s got a guess as to who it is before long legs unfold at his side, and a familiar elbow pokes at his arm.

“Hey,” Alec says calmly.

Max tilts his head a little to stare at the shiny black leather of Alec’s shoes, then says, “Izzy’s not gonna like that you’re sitting your butt on concrete. It’ll probably ruin your pants or something.”

“Maybe,” Alec acknowledges, but says nothing else.

Max makes a face. This is such an Alec thing to do; for the past fourteen years, in every memory that Max has, Alec has always been there, always the big brother who took care of everybody in the family more than he took care of himself. So as crazy as it is, it actually doesn’t surprise Max all that much that Alec is here after noticing the mood Max is in, to wait for him to speak, to sit on the steps with his grumpy little brother.

On his own wedding day.

“You should be inside,” Max says. “You don’t need to be out here.”

“Don’t I?” Alec asks.

“You don’t. I’m fine. It’s all  _fine_ ,” Max insists with unfounded irritation. “You’re getting married today, so just – go do that instead of worrying about me.”

Alec furrows his brows. “You’re my brother, Max. I’m always going to worry about you.”

“Not anymore,” Max mumbles before he can stop himself.

“What?” Alec’s voice finally holds some semblance of emotion, instead of that calming, soothing thing he’d been going for before. When Max looks up at his face, he sees the wide-eyed shock in his expression. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Max tries.

“ _Max_.”

Max sighs, then runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the pomade Izzy had put in there an hour ago. He honestly hadn’t planned on saying anything, but his own smartass mouth got him here, and Alec looks a little distressed right now.

“I’m just saying,” Max starts with a too-casual shrug. “You’re getting married. You’re getting a whole new family now. Knowing you, you’re gonna take over the Shadow World and reform the Clave all while adopting and raising seventeen well-adjusted children.”

Max hears the deep, full breath that Alec takes. “Max, I don’t have a new family,” he eventually says. “I might be  _growing_ my family, but you, Izzy, Jace, Mom, Dad… none of that is changing.”

“That’s not how it works though, is it?” Max says, because now that he’s started he can’t stop. “You already don’t live at the Institute, and I don’t even live in New York. So maybe you and Jace and Izzy and Mom see each other all the time, but I never. Uh. Yeah.”

Alec is quiet, shoulders completely still as if he’s stopped breathing. There’s a sharp sense of guilt that cuts through Max to have caused Alec to be like this, on a day that’s supposed to be happiest, but he doesn’t know how else to say it, how else he could hide this feeling that’s been growing heavier inside him the closer to this event they get.

Then, so softly that Max can barely hear it, Alec says, “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

Max blinks. “Yeah,” he says faintly.

Alec doesn’t answer right away; instead, his jaw clenches and releases in a constant cycle that makes Max anxious.

“Alec…” he says cautiously.

Alec closes his eyes, sighing, before opening them again. “You – you’re right, Max. I haven’t been around for you as much as I should have been. As much as I  _want_ to be,” Alec continues. He bumps his shoulder against Max’s, the material of their suits scratching against each other. “I can see how me getting married would make you think that… that maybe it’d get worse, or that you’d even – god, I don’t know. Lose me, maybe.”

“I don’t…”

Alec’s gaze hones in on Max with soft focus. “Don’t you?” he asks.

Max bites his lip to stop the repeated rejection on his tongue, then stares down at his hands. From the corner of his vision, he sees Alec’s hand come in and land gently on his knee.

“You’re my brother, Max. You’re always going to be, no matter if I have a husband or even – kids.” Alec swallows, his throat working for a moment. “I need you to know that. So… for what it’s worth, I know these are just words for now, but I hope you believe me when I say that I promise I’ll do better.”

Max nods faintly, then squeezes Alec’s forearm from where it’s still resting on his knee. “You said it, so they’re not just words,” he says quietly, sincerely. “Not everybody keeps their promises the way you do.”

“I try, I guess.” Alec makes an awkward little motion with his shoulders. His cheeks go a little pink, and his eyes dart to his right, away from Max.

Max laughs under his breath at that. The tension inside of him loosens slightly from its previously tightly wound knot. At the end of the day, no matter how many things change, it turns out some things don’t. Alec is still Alec – despite years in the political arena duking it out with the most bullheaded people, despite years being  _Magnus Bane’s boyfriend_ , still doesn’t know how to take a compliment, and somehow, that’s just as reassuring as Alec’s promise.

Eventually, Max rises to his feet, straightening his jacket before turning to face Alec, who remains seated, folded into a cramped position on the top step. “Thank you for coming to find me,” he says honestly.

Alec shakes his head. “I’ll always be looking for you, Max. And you shouldn’t have to thank me for anything. I’m glad you were willing to share that with me.”

“I’m sorry about the timing. I hadn’t – I didn’t mean to tell you today.”

“No,” Alec says quickly. “Because you should have told me a long time ago, or – or I should’ve noticed a long time ago. But we’re okay now. We’ll do weekly dinners in LA, or something like that.”

Max flicks Alec’s forehead. “Your magic boyfriend literally invented portals, so you’d better visit LA more often.”

“Magic husband,” Alec blurts out, and a wide, uncontrollable smile takes over his face.

“Oh my god,” Max groans, then slaps his hand over his face in mock irritation, pretending that Alec’s overwhelming happiness doesn’t make him satisfied beyond belief. “You’re such a sap. It’s gross. Here,” he says, and reaches his arm out for Alec to grip onto as he stands. “Go on. Go in. Get married and whatever.”

Alec’s gold-threaded tuxedo is a little when he straightens, his black pants a little dusty from the concrete; Mom will likely be on his case about the whole thing, but it doesn’t look like Alec cares, the way he’s looking down fondly at Max.

“Come with me?” Alec asks, and Max rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, then follows his brother into the venue.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> did alec just --

Magnus can’t –

He can’t –

He can’t  _breathe_.

He feels like his throat is constricted, like his muscles are frozen, like his blood’s stopped in its tracks in its effort to get back to his heart. He wants to say something, but it’s like nothing in his brain is functioning, like his tongue doesn’t remember how to form words.

“Magnus?” Alec asks gently.

Magnus clutches hard at Alec’s hands until he can feel Alec’s bones creak, but he can’t – he just can’t. This can’t be real. This was never meant to be real. Not that he doesn’t want it to be… god, he wants it, desperately. But this isn’t what he expected, isn’t what he was meant for, not according to his father and his history and the wicked gleam of his eyes that betray his heritage. He remembers centuries of heartbreak and tears over lovers in their graves and lovers saying goodbye and lovers saying  _don’t make this harder than it needs to be_ , yet somehow –

“Magnus?”

Somehow now, Magnus has been blessed with Alexander Gideon Lightwood, who smiles and laughs and pledges his love with honest ease, like it’s not a miracle that he loves Magnus, like it’s not a miracle that he’s  _stayed_ and that he still wants to stay, and –

“Magnus? I’m sorry, I thought –”

“ _Yes_ ,” Magnus gasps out,  _finally_ , the word spilling from his lungs as he inhales his first breath since Alec asked him. “My god, Alexander, I – yes, I’ll marry you.”

The worried frown on Alec’s face clears then, the corners of Alec’s eyes crinkling as a happy crescent spreads across the width of his face until his joy is as obvious on his face as the ring in his hand that he’s offering to Magnus. And when he slips that ring onto Magnus’ finger, when he bends his neck to offer to Magnus their first kiss as fiances, Magnus kisses him back, loops his arms around Alec’s neck, and thinks–

Well. Once again, he finds he can’t really think at all.

**Author's Note:**

> these all started on tumblr [ @laughingmagnus](https://laughingmagnus.tumblr.com/). go there to see them first or send over a prompt or two :)


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